


your best kept secret & your biggest mistake

by returnsandreturns



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Ableism, Alternate Universe - High School, Bullying, Fluff and Angst, Homophobia, M/M, Teen Angst, Teen Romance, Vigilantism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-15
Updated: 2019-01-07
Packaged: 2019-03-05 01:13:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13376988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/returnsandreturns/pseuds/returnsandreturns
Summary: “Murdock’s kind of hot, though,” a girl with a reedy voice says, across the cafeteria from Matt, to some vague noises of agreement. He hadn’t picked up on them talking before they said his name, because the cafeteria’s basically sensory hell between the food and the noise so he usually tries to shut down as much as he can.“I heard he’s a psycho,” another girl says. “He got kicked out of Catholic school.”“For what?”“I don’t know—being a psycho,” she says.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I JUST GOT ALL THESE FEELINGS ABOUT ANGRY MISFIT MATT AND HERE THEY ARE
> 
> it's a WIP, let's all join hands and pray it won't remain so

“You’ll have to learn to like this if you’re going to be a bad boy, Matt,” Karen says, sounding amused, reaching out to pluck the cigarette from Matt’s fingers. He coughs again, making a face at her.

“I’m not trying to be a bad boy,” he says, dryly. He listens to her breathe in the smoke and let it out slowly, drawing in a sharp breath when she’s finished.

“Sure you’re not,” she says, fondly. Matt’s not sure why she’s decided to hang out with him, but it’s probably because they both want to skip gym—Karen in protest of the instructor who’s probably a sexual predator and Matt because he’s basically not allowed to do anything. Apparently, being unable to see means he can’t be trusted to do a fucking pushup without strict supervision.

“What are _you_ trying to be, then?” he asks, reaching out expectantly and taking the cigarette when Karen puts it in his hand. He takes a drag cautiously, steeling himself and only coughing lightly as he blows out smoke.

“I’m just trying to get by,” she says, dropping down from the low wall they were sitting on, blocking off the dumpsters from the back parking lot. “You can finish that. I’ve got to go harass the principal for an interview about the asbestos in the ceiling.”

There actually is asbestos. Matt can smell it.

He listens to the sound of her ballet flats on the concrete as she walks away, taking one more drag before he drops the half-smoked cigarette on the ground. Karen’s weird. She’s a straight-A student and the editor and basically only staff member of the school newspaper, but she seems to mostly be committed to drinking heavily on the weekends and taking down the administration from the inside.

They’re not friends or anything, but Matt doesn’t hate her.

He hops down when he hears the bell ring, crushing the cigarette under his heel before he heads inside.

*

“Murdock’s kind of hot, though,” a girl with a reedy voice says, across the cafeteria from Matt, to some vague noises of agreement. He hadn’t picked up on them talking before they said his name, because the cafeteria’s basically sensory hell between the food and the noise so he usually tries to shut down as much as he can.

“I heard he’s a psycho,” another girl says. “He got kicked out of Catholic school.”

“For what?”

“I don’t know—being a psycho,” she says. Matt can hear the eye roll in her voice. He’s got earbuds in that aren’t attached to anything as a camouflage tactic, but he really wishes they’d actually do something to keep him from listening.

“He’s fucking _blind_ ,” a new girl says. “How much damage could he even cause?”

Matt’s fingers curl into a fist involuntarily but he quickly loosens them, taking a long drink from his water bottle instead. It’s nothing that he hasn’t heard before. It’s nothing that he hasn’t heard _constantly_.

“He’s still hot, though,” the first girl sighs. “Too bad.”

*

Matt actually did get kicked out of his last school, which means he also got kicked out of his last foster home, because he was already a difficult case to take on without disciplinary issues. According to his caseworker, at least, while Matt sat outside her office and listened to her and his new foster parents—Jane and Patrick, devout Catholics, possibly dead inside—talk about him.

They’re the best ones he’s ever had because they don’t talk to him. He’s got a small room to himself and free reign of the kitchen, and he doesn’t have to have cloying conversations about what he did at school that day or if he’s making any new friends. It’s not what they’re supposed to be but it’s _great_.

One of the only real conversations they had was the night he moved in with them, when they ordered in pizza and asked what happened at school to get him kicked out.

When he told them it was for fighting, they seemed skeptical but accepted it. Said something about zero tolerance policies, like Matt wasn’t the one who instigated it—like he was _bullied_.

It’s better that way. People probably don’t want a kid in their family who punches until he feels blood.

*

Matt’s already read _Romeo and Juliet_. He thinks he probably wasn’t supposed to like it, but he actually did, at least until the teacher tells them to split up into scene partners for the balcony scene.

He’s hoping for an uneven number of people when someone slides into the desk next to him and says, “Hi, do you want to be partners?”

It takes him about five seconds to realize that it’s Foggy Nelson but he just raises his eyebrows.

“Oh! Sorry,” Foggy says. “It’s Foggy. We haven’t really talked.”

“Why do you want to be my partner then?” Matt asks.

“Uhm—ran out of options?” Foggy says.

He’s lying. Matt wouldn’t even have to be able to hear his heartbeat to know that, because he’s _noticed_ Foggy since he’s been here.

There’s something about him that’s really distracting.

“Wow,” Matt murmurs, dryly.

“Not that I wouldn’t love to be your partner!” Foggy says, quickly. “I’m sure you’re great and you seem—you seem super smart. Probably better at Shakespeare than I am. I take one look at the stuff and forget how to read entirely.”

Matt smiles. He doesn’t mean to.

“Fine,” he says, shaking his head. He’s got the play up on the ancient laptop the school gave him with the refreshable braille reader that works about half of the time. “You’re Juliet.”

Foggy’s heart speeds up for some reason.

“Yeah, okay,” he says. “I think I can rock that.”

Foggy’s really funny. Not even like some of his obnoxious friends are funny—where they’re not _actually_ funny but people laugh anyway. They laugh so much that the teacher calls them out for not working, but they’re almost through with the scene, desks pushed in close and leaning towards each other so Foggy can hear him over the other people reading.

At one point, near the end, Foggy’s reading a line dramatically and poorly and he abruptly grabs Matt’s hand. Matt goes stiff and Foggy falters, dropping it as soon as he notices. Matt hasn’t been touched in a while. He actually can’t remember when.

“Sorry,” he says. “I got too into it.”

“Making up stage directions?” Matt asks, uncomfortably.

“A bro can’t tenderly clasp his other bro’s hand?”

“We’re not bros,” Matt says.

“Yet, Matt,” Foggy says, happily. “We’re not bros _yet.”_

Matt ducks his head to hide an involuntary smile, feels briefly overwhelmed, and makes sure his face is blank when he lifts it up again. He hasn’t tried to make friends and nobody else has tried to do anything about it. He’s not sure he wants to.

“Let’s finish reading,” he says. “ _Just_ reading.”

“Oh—okay. Can do,” Foggy says. He sounds disappointed but like he’s trying not to sound like he’s disappointed, and Matt actually feels bad. He doesn’t _have_ to be shitty to Foggy just because he’s being nice, but, apparently, that’s not going to stop him.

*

“You won the fight, didn’t you?” Karen asks, before she says hello. Karen actually rarely says hello, which Matt prefers to the people who announce their name to him loudly and slowly like it will somehow help him see them. He knows her footsteps by now.

“What?” he asks.

“The fight,” Karen repeats. “The one that got you excommunicated.”

“Are you writing a story on it or something?” Matt asks, crossing his arms over his chest. A few days ago, Matt casually mentioned to Karen that he was going to hide under the bleachers at the football field instead of near the dumpsters because of the smell. 

“No, just natural curiosity,” she says. “People might actually read the paper if I did, though. You’ve been here a month and people are still gossiping about you.”

“Yeah, I’m aware,” Matt says. Being able to hear fucking _everything_ is maybe the worst part of his life. The smell of a couple hundred teens at various levels of sweaty and horny all shoved into one too small building is pretty unbearable, but listening to those same teens’ opinions feels like God is punishing him. He’s not as good at blocking things out as he was when he was with—when he was training. He got out of practice.

“I’ve seen the picture,” Karen says.

“Really?” Matt asks. “I haven’t.”

She hesitates for a moment like maybe she’s not supposed to laugh before she snorts.

“Well, it’s a guy who looks like he fucked with the wrong person,” she says. “Like—I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s eating through a fucking tube right now.”

He has no idea what happened to Wesley in the aftermath of it, other than the fact that he didn’t die, wasn’t hurt long enough for Matt to get anything but expelled. He’s probably fine. He didn’t even break anything important.

“ _Your_ face is still pretty,” Karen says, curiously. “I _assume_ that means you won.”

“I guess,” Matt says, shrugging.

“You gonna tell me how?” she asks.

Matt thinks for a moment. He knows what she means; it’s what the principal and the cops and his foster parents wanted to know, too.

“Well,” he says, slowly. “I hit him.”

Karen doesn’t say anything.

“Like, a lot.”

“Okay, don’t tell me,” she says, sighing. “It doesn’t matter. I have to sneak out, I’ve got a meeting with a guy at the Department of Health to back up my suspicion that all of our lungs are going to be ruined before we graduate.”

“Cool,” Matt says. “You do that.”

She huffs and walks away, only getting a few feet before she turns on her heel and asks, “Was it just a lucky shot? Wait, that was definitely more than one punch—twenty-two lucky shots?”

Matt wants to talk about it. Maybe not with Karen, but he hasn’t talked about it in years and there was only ever one person that he could do it with. He wants to talk about what it’s like to live in his body and have someone understand it.

He wants to explain that he could actually beat the shit out of someone even if he _weren’t_ a freak.

“Yeah,” he says, flatly. “Just lucky shots.”

Karen makes a skeptical noise but doesn’t push it.

“Well, good job,” she says. “From what I’ve heard, the guy was a dick.”

“He deserved it,” Matt says, nodding.

“. . .I believe you,” Karen says, genuinely. “I’ll question you more later, I have to go see a man about our deadly ceiling tiles.”

That’s the longest conversation Matt’s had without someone since he got here.

*

“Hey, can we be partners again?” Foggy asks. “It’s Foggy, by the way.”

Matt felt nervous as soon as the teacher told them to pair up. He didn’t think Foggy would think he was worth the effort after he basically shut him down last time, but he sounds just as hopeful when he asks today, anxiously running a hand through his hair. It’s longer than a guy would have it normally but Matt can’t tell quite how long just from hearing it.

“Yeah, I know,” Matt says. “Context clues.”

“Right,” Foggy says, brightly. “So, be my Romeo? I promise that I won’t grab any part of your body and I will _also_ not ask you to be my Romeo again, because I think that’s maybe the gayest thing I’ve ever said.”

Matt feels himself bristle. He’s not sure why since he barely even knows Foggy, but he’s surprised that he would say something like that. He kind of wants to ask if that’s a problem for him. Being gay.

“Fine,” he says. “Your line’s first.”

He still has fun. Foggy’s perfected a high, lilting British accent that means he can barely finish a line without laughing and he keeps dragging Matt down with him. They finish a little earlier than everyone else, and Foggy shuts his book and says, “So, I was thinking about taking my lunch and eating on the bleachers since it’s nice out. Want to come with me?”

“. . .why?” Matt asks.

“Oh, because I want to get you away from everyone else so I can murder you,” Foggy says, immediately. Matt huffs out a laugh. “No, I just want to hang out. You can tell me to fuck off, though.”

Matt doesn’t want to say no. He knows that he probably should, that Foggy’s got this huge group of popular friends that Matt knows he can’t be a part of and who might be—dangerous, really. To someone like him.

But he doesn’t want to say no.

“I might come,” he says.

“Cool,” Foggy says, happily.

*

It takes Matt ten minutes of pacing underneath the bleachers before he walks out and around them, listening for Foggy, hearing his heartbeat that’s becoming familiar before he hears Foggy call his name. He’s on one of the bottom rows, and Matt walks up carefully with his cane to find him.

“You came,” Foggy says, grinning. “I really didn’t think you would.”

“Why?” Matt asks.

“I don’t know, you’re probably too mysterious and cool to hang out with me,” Foggy says, shrugging. “I hope I’m wrong, though.”

“ _I’m_ too cool?” Matt asks, before he can stop himself.

“Yeah, dude,” Foggy says. “You’re all hot and edgy and everyone thinks you were a professional assassin or something. I’m just a spaz.”

“You’re popular,” Matt says.

“Eh,” Foggy says. “I’m boring. I’ve never experienced anything and _you’ve_ killed five men.”

“Shouldn’t that make you not want to talk to me?” Matt asks. “Maybe _I_ came out here to murder _you_.”

“I’ll take my chances. You gonna sit?”

Matt settles down a couple of feet away with the sandwich he made this morning. It’s a little squished from his backpack, but he’s too distracted by the fact that Foggy just called him hot to really mind. There’s some fundamental difference between him saying it to Matt’s face and girls debating about it on the other side of a room.

“I haven’t killed anyone,” he says, after a few quiet moments.

“I didn’t think you had.”

“Why?”

“Because—they generally don’t let murderers go to high school anymore,” Foggy says, laughing. “I mean, public school’s sketchy so that probably doesn’t apply to _all_ felons, but murder’s kind of a big one.”

“Good point,” Matt says, biting his lip around a smile.

“Plus, you seem secretly nice,” Foggy says.

“I’m not,” Matt says, immediately.

“So secretly nice,” Foggy says, “that even _you_ don’t realize it. But I’m very perceptive, Matt Murdock.”

Matt could hear the way Foggy’s heart beat faster when he saw Matt. He can basically trace his entire day by the way that he smells. But Foggy’s got a point. Matt barely understands what he’s feeling most of the time.

“If you say so, Foggy Nelson,” he says.

*

At the end of the day, Matt normally stays late in the library to avoid walking through the crowd of kids leaving. The only thing he can hear when he leaves is the sound of someone being shoved into a locker _hard_ , and it runs up his spine. A younger kid’s being threatened, and, by the time he hears him get hit, Matt’s ripped a knit cap out of his backpack and pulled it on before he sprints around the corner to say, “Leave him alone.”

“Who the fuck are you?” the older guy asks, scoffing.

Matt drags the guy off and pushes him against a locker instead. The guy starts to fight back, trying to get away from him.

“You don’t need to know,” Matt says and lands a punch in the guy’s stomach that makes him slump to the ground. It gives the other kid time to run away, and the guy doesn’t even try to get up and fight.

Matt kicks him once for good measure before he goes back to grab his stuff and get away before anybody else shows up. He’s shaking and starts laughing as soon as he gets outside, a little hysterical.

He’s kind of missed this.

He runs the whole way back to the apartment and locks himself in his room. After he kicks off his shoes and pulls his homework out to do later, he sprawls out on the bed and touches his sore knuckles, wondering if he could do it again. If he could get away with it this time.

*

The day they take their essay test about _Romeo and Juliet_ , Foggy stops Matt outside of class and asks him if he wants to hang out after school.

“And before you ask why,” Foggy says, “it’s because we’ve eaten lunch together just enough times that you actually have to call me your bro now.”

“Legally?” Matt asks.

“I’m afraid so,” Foggy says, “and do you know what bros do?”

“Hang out with each other after school?” Matt echoes, sticking his hands in the front pockets of his jeans and raising his eyes expectantly.

“Exactly,” Foggy says. “Coffee?”

Matt sighs.

“Meet me out front,” he says, leaving before Foggy can reply because he needs to sort out the sick, nervous feeling in his stomach at the thought of Foggy wanting to spend time with him when they're not obligated to be in the same building.

*

“It’s romantic,” Matt says, firmly. He hadn’t planned to ever fully give his opinions on the play, but Foggy seems to be fascinated that he has them.

“It’s dumb teenagers,” Foggy says. “They could’ve just taken a breath and they’d still be alive to this day.”

“Well, first of all, several centuries ago,” Matt says. “So, no. And, also, they’re fictional which is why—it’s why it works. I wouldn’t think a news story about two teenagers killing themselves for love was compelling.”

“But a big fancy, flowery play?” Foggy asks.

“Not that fancy back then,” Matt says, “and _yes_. It’s written for a purpose—it’s not about them dying, it’s what led them to doing it.”

“Horrible families?”

“True _love_.”

Matt regrets saying it as soon as he does, picking up his coffee and drinking to hide his blush. Foggy’s heart picks up, probably because he’s about to give Matt shit for it, but then he just says, “I wish we’d talked more about this while we were reading it. I feel like I need to do it again.”

“You could just watch it,” Matt says. “Better that way, anyway—not that I’d know.”

“ _Do_ you watch movies?” Foggy asks. “I mean, obviously not watch, but is listening to them worth it?”

“Depends on the movie,” Matt says. “My, uh—my dad used to sit with me and narrate what was happening, what I couldn’t get from the dialogue. That helped.”

“He used to?” Foggy asks, carefully.

Matt’s not sure what it is about Foggy that makes him want to talk about shit that he’d never talk about with anyone else.

“He died,” he says. “When I was a kid. And my mom left before that. It was an orphanage and foster families after that.”

“Wow,” Foggy says. “I—I know it’s bullshit when people say _I’m sorry_ about stuff like that, so I’ll skip it. But thank you for trusting me with it.”

Matt opens his mouth to say something, realizes he has no idea what to say, and shuts it again. Foggy, who actually _is_ very perceptive, starts to make fun of Matt for ordering black coffee instead. Black like his soul. Black like his wardrobe. It’s funny.

Does he _trust_ Foggy?

*

The next time he has to help someone, it’s because two guys are ganging up on a kid, calling him a faggot. They’re under the bleachers when Matt was already headed there, so he grabs the hat to cover his eyes and tosses his stuff up through the slats so they land on a bench.

They’ve got the kid on the ground, curled up in a ball, and Matt doesn’t give them time to react before he’s taking them down and doing the exact same thing to them. Maybe worse—but they actually _did_ something. A few scrapes and bruises and a bloody nose isn’t a harsh punishment.

“Get out of here,” he says, to the kid who stumbled to his feet and backed up to watch, heart rabbiting in his chest.

“Yes, sir,” the kid says, nervously, and Matt huffs out a laugh and nudges one of the guys on the ground with the toe of his shoe as he runs away.

“Planning on messing with him again?”

“No,” they both say, a few seconds apart, groaning.

“Good,” Matt says, “because I’ll know.”

It’s dramatic, but it’s not wrong. He’s got good ears.

He runs out and climbs up through the bleachers to sit with his stuff, taking his cane out and putting his glasses back on, smoothing his hair down. The football team is running drills on the field and there are a few scattered onlookers, but he’s alone on his side, so he pulls out his phone and plugs his earbuds in to listen to music while he subtly checks to make sure there’s no sign on his body of what he just did.

He licks his thumb to rub off a smear of blood on one of his knuckles. He’s shaking, but he feels good. Really good.

*

“I’ve heard reports that ten guys have been beaten up by some kid in a mask,” Karen says. She’s sitting on the ground under the bleachers when Matt gets there, a cigarette already burned down in her fingers. “That’s weird, right?”

Matt counts back in his head.

By this point, it’s actually eleven.

“Like a superhero?” he asks, smirking.

“Like a serial killer,” she says. “One who hasn’t yet escalated to murder.”

“That seems harsh,” he says, sitting down next to her. “Isn’t he beating up assholes and bullies?”

“Yeah, actually,” Karen says, slowly. “I didn’t tell you that, though.”

“ _Everybody’s_ talking about it,” Matt says. “I heard it from Foggy.”

“Right, your boyfriend,” she says, laughing when Matt frowns at her. “Hey, _I_ don’t have one, you should be grateful. And you got a nice one, too.”

“We’re friends,” Matt says. He knows that Karen’s joking about him and Foggy, but he doesn't think that’s she joking about him being the kind of person that has a boyfriend. He’s not sure what to do with that. “I guess. Aren’t you dating—what’s his name? ROTC guy.”

“Ugh, Frank,” she says, with obvious annoyance, “and I have no idea. Men are terrible.”

“You’re not wrong,” Matt says, smiling when she laughs again.

“Now, look at that,” she says, nudging him with a shoulder. “You look like a person when you smile.”

“What do I look like otherwise?”

“A—sad, angry ghost boy,” she says. “Who is perpetually listening to The Smiths. Don’t try to tell me you aren’t.”

Matt pointedly doesn’t say anything and Karen grins and leans against him. Matt gets nervous for a moment before he lets it happen, and it’s okay. It’s good. Her hair smells like coconut. He—thinks they might be friends, too.

“Is your jaw bruised?” Karen asks, curiously.

“Ran into a doorway,” Matt says, immediately. “Didn’t see it coming.”

“Hmm,” she says. It’s non-committal, but he thinks she believes him.

*

Matt has very purposefully avoided being around any of Foggy’s other friends, which hasn’t been easy, because Foggy’s got a lot of them. He says that he’s a loser who’s somehow managed to pass as cool for a long time but that the other shoe will probably drop eventually. Matt doesn’t believe that.

“So,” Foggy says, when he stops by Matt’s locker between classes and leans against the one beside it. “Jess and Trish are having a party this weekend because they’re home alone. Well, Trish is having it—but Jess will be contributing her fake ID.”

“Oh, have fun,” Matt says, immediately, because he knows where that’s going. He tries to avoid Foggy’s friends just as much as Foggy tries to include him.

“Oh, I will,” Foggy says, “and so will you.”

“I’m busy,” Matt says, not even bothering to pretend like he’s actually busy.

“Busy with _homework_. Yeah, I know you’re a closeted nerd,” Foggy says. “You get off on writing essays. I respect that. But I want to hang _out_ with you, buddy.”

“I don’t do parties,” Matt says, shutting his locker and turning to raise his eyebrows at Foggy.

“Have you tried them?” Foggy asks.

“No,” Matt says, flatly, “but I’ve also never tried cocaine.”

“Wow,” Foggy says, laughing. “Fuck. How do I argue with that?”

“You don’t.”

“Look, we can leave five minutes in if you hate it,” Foggy says, “but please come with me? You don’t even have to talk to anyone else.”

“That won’t be weird,” Matt says.

“Please?” Foggy repeats. His voice is sweet and hopeful and Matt was already ready to give in after the first please. He doesn’t know how to say no to Foggy, maybe because he never really wants to.

“Five minutes,” he says, and Foggy beams at him.

“I _promise_ ,” he says. “I’ll take you out for ice cream instead.”

“Great,” Matt says, shaking his head and grinning. “Now, leave me alone so I can regret my choices.”

“Absolutely,” Foggy says, and then he does something that knocks the breath out of Matt’s body, wrapping his arms around him lightly for a quick hug. They both stand quietly, Matt’s arms at his side, no idea what to do from here. It’s too late to hug back.

He _wants_ to hug back.

“Okay, bye!” Foggy says, voice breaking and running off as soon as he lets go of Matt. Matt feels like he still can’t move. It’s just a hug, but—Matt hasn’t been hugged in a long time.

*

The day of the party, Matt goes too far, fucks up a football player who tries to force himself on a girl in the girl’s bathroom. He leaves him bloody and half-conscious and skips his next class to try and fail not to have an anxiety attack in a janitor’s closet. The smell of cleaning supplies makes him dizzy but nobody will interrupt him and there’s a sink to wash the blood off of his hands.

Most of the guys didn’t go to the administration because they didn’t get hurt that badly, because they knew they could get in trouble for what they were doing to deserve it.

There’s no way they won’t hear about this, though. And Matt has a record.

He’s about to leave before the bell rings for his next class when he hears footsteps approaching, freezing when they stop in front of the door. He smells coconut.

“There you are,” Karen says, when she opens it and steps inside.

“. . .what?” Matt asks.

“I was looking for you,” she says, shutting the door behind her. “Thought you might’ve left, but I figured it was worth checking.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You have blood on your sweater.”

“. . . _fuck_ ,” he says, softly, and Karen laughs.

“I’m surprised nobody’s caught you before now. You’re not that slick, Matt.”

“People see what they want to see,” he says, running a hand through his hair before he pointedly adjusts his glasses. “Do I _look_ like I can do things like that? ”

“Right now?” she says. “Kind of. Take your sweater off. Oh my god, don’t give me that look—I’m not stealing your virtue, I snagged a shirt from the lost and found for you.”

He hesitates but pulls his shirt off after she starts tapping her foot impatiently, frowning when she whistles low.

“Surprising abs,” she says. “You’re not as scrawny as you look when you’re all bundled up in your loner clothes.”

“Just give me the shirt,” he says, sighing. “It doesn’t have an ironic saying on it, does it?”

“Beggars can’t be choosers,” she says, handing him the t-shirt and taking his sweater, stuffing it in her messenger bag, “but no, it’s a plain white t-shirt.”

It’s a little bit tight, but it works. He picks up his backpack as the bell rings, angling his head at Karen and asking, “So, you’re not gonna turn me in?”

“Oh, no,” Karen says, amused, unbuttoning a few buttons on her blouse and shaking her hair out. “I’m actually giving you an alibi.”

Matt starts to ask what she means when Karen kisses him roughly, backs him up against the door and slides her fingers into his hair, reaching around to open the door as soon as Matt kisses her back so they stumble out into a crowd of people. Someone wolf-whistles and a few people laugh.

Matt feels a weird ache when he hears Foggy, underneath everyone talking about them, whisper, “Oh.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this owns my entire soul right now. more to come.

“Did you get detention for your dramatic PDA?” Foggy asks, before he says anything else, sitting down next to Matt in English class. His voice is kind of tight but he’s obviously smiling.

“No, actually,” he says, smiling back cautiously. “Karen has dirt on the teacher that caught us. He convinced the principal to treat it as a first offense.”

“ _Is_ it your first offense?”

“At this school,” Matt says.

“Sure,” Foggy says, laughing. “It, uhm—it must be nice having someone like Karen as your girlfriend. She seems great.”

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Matt says, quickly. He feels like he needs to explain, but he can’t say why they were kissing. “We were just—messing around.”

“Well, good for you,” Foggy says, not quite like he means it even though he reaches out to punch Matt’s shoulder gently. “I think we’re supposed to exchange, like, gross objectifying banter now, but I also think we’re better than that.”

“I agree,” Matt says, noddng.

He wants to apologize to Foggy, because he feels like he’s done something to him.

“Anyway, if you give me your address, I’ll come meet you and we can walk to Trish’s place together tonight,” Foggy says. “Will your foster parents expect you back?”

“No, they won’t even notice,” Matt says. Foggy makes a soft, concerned noise and Matt laughs, softly. “It sounds bad, but it’s a good thing. I really just need the food and shelter part.”

“Okay, I’m probably going to hug you again later,” Foggy says. “Just to warn you in advance this time.”

“Oh—okay,” Matt says, after a beat, hoping he’s not blushing too obviously.

He writes down his address and gives it to Foggy, who folds it carefully and tucks it into the pocket on the front of his backpack.

“Oh, and you can totally bring Karen if you want,” Foggy adds.

“It’s really not like that,” Matt says.

“Okay, if you say so. God, between your scandal and Jeff getting the shit beaten out of him, we’re going to have a lot to talk about tonight,” Foggy says. “Oh— _wait_. Did you hear about that or were you busy getting it on?”

“We just _kissed_ ,” Matt says, absolutely blushing now, “but no, what happened?”

“A couple of girls found Jeff Pritchett bleeding on the bathroom floor,” Foggy says, leaning forward and lowering his voice conspiratorially. “Apparently he was trying to force one of the cheerleaders to do shit she didn’t want to do and our resident baby Batman gave it to him _hard.”_

“Did he go to the principal?” Matt asks, trying to look surprised.

“He left in an _ambulance_ ,” Foggy says. “He might have a concussion or something.”

“Shit,” Matt says, softly, then—because he can’t help himself, “What do you think about him? Uhm, Batman?”

“I—think everybody he’s targeted is a shitty person,” Foggy says, thoughtfully, “but I’m not convinced that the ends justify the means, y’know? Beating them up just makes them look like victims to the people who’d be able to do anything about them.”

“Was anything being done about them to begin with, though?” Matt asks.

“. . .yeah, dude, good point,” Foggy says. “Most of the guys he messed with have been doing shit for years. And I don’t have any sympathy for people like Jeff—if _anybody_ deserves getting punched in the face, it’s him.”

“Probably not the first time he’s done something like that,” Matt says, nodding.

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Foggy agrees. “I just hope he got kicked somewhere that _really_ hurt.”

Matt smiles.

“I bet he did,” he says.

*

“You look nice!” Foggy says, as soon as he sees Matt on the steps of his apartment building. “Wow, I said _that_ too enthusiastically. You look nice.”

“Thanks,” Matt says, making a face. “I—washed my hair.”

“I can tell,” Foggy says, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Not that you don’t rock the whole—greaser look, but you’re very shiny right now.”

“Uhm, thanks. Let’s go,” Matt says, before either of them has to continue this conversation, and Foggy sighs gratefully. On the way to Trish’s house, Foggy gives him a brief lesson in who will probably be there—not as many people as he expected, just the smaller group that Foggy tends to hang out with most. When he’s not hanging out with Matt.

“I really think you’ll like all of them,” Foggy says.

“Will they like me?” Matt asks. He means it as a joke but neither of them take it that way.

“They’ll _love_ you,” Foggy says, knocking into Matt lightly with his shoulder, “and if they don’t, I’ll beat ‘em up.”

Matt laughs, turning his head away.

“That’s okay,” he says. “Just take me out for ice cream instead.”

“I’ll do both,” Foggy says, heart beating faster.

*

Apparently, a party with Foggy’s friends is less than ten people hanging out in a living room drinking Jack and Cokes in varying degrees of strength. Matt’s not sure what he expected; his brain said _popular kids at a party_ and filled it in with fictional house parties. Loud music and drunk kids and maybe the cops come.

“I want to _join_ him,” Jessica says. She’s sitting on the sofa, with her legs slung over Trish’s lap, feet resting on Malcolm’s legs.

“Jessica Jones wants to join something?” Foggy asks.

“It’s not like it’s the fucking— _homecoming_ committee,” she says. “I want to kick someone’s ass.”

“A superhero duo,” Trish says, laughing. “You should get costumes.”

“I’d do it if I could list it in my extracurriculars,” Danny says.

“You have a trust fund, you don’t even need extracurriculars,” Luke says, tossing a napkin at him. “ _I’d_ do it if I wouldn’t get tried as an adult if we got caught.”

“Am I the only who doesn’t want to physically fight the entire world?” Foggy asks. He’s sitting next to Matt on the floor; two drinks each and they’re leaning into each other heavily. “What about you, Murdock?”

“I—would if I could,” he says, smiling.

“Sure you can’t? Based on the rumors,” Jessica says, “you’re, like, making pipe bombs in your spare time.”

“You’d think my chemistry grade would be better then,” Matt says, smiling for real when they all laugh. He’s actually acing chemistry. He’s acing everything.

“Foggy’s already vouched for you not being a murderer,” Trish says, kindly.

“Yeah, he talks about you _all the time_ ,” Jessica says.

“I _do not_ ,” Foggy says, immediately. Matt’s close enough that he can _feel_ Foggy go bright red as he turns to him. “I really don’t.”

“It’s okay,” Matt says.

“I talk about you—the _normal_ amount,” Foggy says.

“I believe you.”

The whiskey’s making him feel really warm. While they’re this close, Matt can’t stop thinking about Foggy saying that he was going to hug him. He wonders if he could hug Foggy first.

*

They leave sometime after midnight and Matt doesn’t something he hasn’t done since he was a kid, stopping Foggy on the sidewalk outside Trish’s house and asking, “Would it be okay if I held onto your arm? I might be too drunk to navigate.”

He actually is pretty drunk. He’s only had a drink once or twice and he’s feeling like he might sway a lot.

“Yeah, of course,” Foggy says, sounding happy, maybe nervous.

Matt listens to Foggy’s heart beat faster when he reaches out to touch his arm, slide his fingers down lightly to find his elbow.

They’re quiet as they walk back, but he thinks that Foggy’s feeling as good as he is, and Matt feels— _really_ good.

On his stoop, Matt lets go of Foggy and smiles at him.

“Thanks for inviting me,” he says.

“Did you actually have fun?” Foggy asks. Matt makes a hedging noise and Foggy laughs, reaching out to squeeze his shoulder and shake him gently. “C’mon, Matty, you’re allowed to have fun.”

“Matty?” Matt asks.

“Do you hate it?”

“No, no,” Matt says. “I like it. And—yeah, I had fun.”

“Good,” Foggy says. He’s still holding Matt’s shoulder. It feels like it’s okay to push, maybe. Do something he’s scared of.

“I—think I owe you one of these?” he says, feeling stupid and brave as he steps in to wrap his arms around Foggy. After a moment, Foggy lets out a shaky breath and hugs him back, tightly—his face tucked into Matt’s neck. Matt’s not sure how long a hug is supposed to be but he doesn’t want to let go. So, he doesn’t.

“God, my curfew was, like, half an hour ago,” Foggy murmurs, lips brushing Matt’s skin. He tightens his arms for a moment before he lets go of Matt. “My parents are going to be pissed.”

“Tell them you had to escort your drunk, blind friend home,” Matt says. “You’ll sound heroic.”

“Will I sound _sober_ , though?” Foggy asks. “Thanks for coming with me. I’m glad you didn’t hate it.”

Matt nods, not sure what to say, and even less sure when Foggy reaches up to touch his cheek. They both shift in closer. Matt’s holding his breath until Foggy abruptly drops his hand and says, “Uhm, I should go—I’ll see you on Monday, buddy.”

“Oh, okay,” Matt says. “See you.”

Foggy hurries away and Matt stays exactly where he is.

He has no idea what just happened.

*

“God, I should’ve kissed you _ages_ ago,” Karen says, catching Matt at his locker Monday before lunch. “Frank got jealous and finally made a move.”

“Glad I could help,” Matt says.

“How’s the crime fighting?” she asks.

“I take the weekends off,” he says, dryly.

“I thought you might be prowling the streets at night,” she says. “Enacting _vengeance.”_

Matt hears a familiar heartbeat and glares at her, saying, “Keep it down.”

“Oh, sorry,” Foggy says, hesitantly, when he stops in front of them. “I didn’t mean to interrupt you guys.”

“You aren’t,” Karen says, smiling sweetly at him. “You’re Foggy, right?”

“That’s me,” Foggy says.

“Matt talks about you all the time,” she says, and Matt wants to crawl into his locker and die. Karen knows exactly what she’s doing. He wonders if he could suffocate if he stayed in there long enough.

“Does he?” Foggy asks, amused.

“Just occasionally,” Matt says, weakly.

“Right. Should I—go find someone else to eat with?” Foggy asks. “I can leave you two alone.”

“Oh, no, I’m meeting someone,” Karen says, hefting her bag up on her shoulder. “Have fun, boys.”

Foggy waits until she walks away before he asks, “Bleachers?”

“Yeah,” Matt says, smiling at him and grabbing his lunch. “Let’s go.”

*

“Hey,” Jessica says, and Matt jumps a little, surprised. He heard her moving near him but she’s never spoken to him in class before. “Shit, sorry. It’s Jessica. I’m joining you in your loner corner, I’m fucking tired of sitting near people who voluntarily answer questions in class.”

“I heard that,” Trish calls, lightly, from the front row.

“I wasn’t trying to hide it,” Jessica calls back, sitting down in the desk next to him. “This cool?”

“Yeah, sure,” Matt says.

“We don’t have to talk.”

“Perfect,” Matt says, trying not to smile. That’s been a problem lately.

They sit in surprisingly comfortable silence until class starts and neither of them ever raise their hands.

*

Matt’s turning a corner, shoving his hat back into his bag and putting his glasses back on, when he runs straight into Foggy. His heart’s already racing because he actually had to fight a bully he was trying to stop, and it doesn’t help—Foggy steadying him, their bodies pressed together for a moment.

“Where’s the fire?” Foggy asks, laughing when Matt stumbles back a little.

“Just—ready to get home,” he says, taking deep breaths.

“You sure you’re okay?” Foggy asks. “You look freaked.”

“I’m fine, seriously,” Matt says, smiling, smoothing a hand over his hair. It probably looks crazy, but luckily it’s never really combed.

“Well, I was actually going to see if you were at your locker,” Foggy says, “to ask if you want to come home and watch a movie with me? Maybe?”

Matt should say no. He needs to get away right now, and he needs to take some time to calm down, but also—he _really_ wants to go home with Foggy. The thought makes him feel kind of flushed and dizzy.

“Sure,” he says. “Let’s go.”

On the walk there, Foggy asks if Matt wants to hold onto his arm, and Matt says yes without even hesitating. That’s. That’s new.

*

“Romeo and Juliet,” Matt says, laughing.

“Romeo _plus_ Juliet,” Foggy says. “Makes it cooler.”

“Sure,” Matt says, turning to smile at him.

He’s in Foggy’s bed. Well, he’s sitting _on_ Foggy’s bed, with Foggy beside him, their backs against the wall and their shoulders pressed together. His sheets smell like fabric softener. Matt wonders if Foggy changed them just because he might come over.

“Okay, let’s go for it,” Foggy says, clicking play on his laptop. Music fills up the room. “Should I just annoyingly talk through the whole thing?”

“Yes,” Matt says, straight-faced. “As annoying as possible.”

Foggy huffs out a laugh and elbows him gently.

“Okay, pay attention,” he says. “I’m about to make Shakespeare come alive.”

“I’m ready.”

Foggy’s commentary is partially serious—describing sets and outfits and outrageous facial expressions—and otherwise a running stream of jokes and observations that have Matt laughing the entire time. He’s slumped heavily against Foggy as the movie ends, so comfortable that he’s not nervous about being this close until Foggy shifts to shut his laptop.

He sits up and moves over to stretch his arms out.

“You’re good at that,” he says. “I thought you would be.”

“Really?” Foggy asks. “Because I’m so insightful, right?”

“Sure,” Matt says, “and also you never stop talking.”

“ _Wow_ ,” Foggy says, faux-offended. “You realize I have to retaliate when you insult me in my own home, right, Murdock?”

“Of course,” Matt says, then chokes on a surprised laugh when he gets hit in the face with a pillow. He grabs it and tries to take it from Foggy, which results in them fighting each other, kind of—laughing and happy and Matt’s never fought something like this.

He lets Foggy pin him down. He’s in Foggy’s bed and he lets Foggy pin him down.

“You win,” he says, breathlessly. Their hearts are practically beating in rhythm, out of their chests, and Foggy spreads his fingers out on Matt’s shoulder.

“I think you let me,” Foggy says, and Matt laughs softly.

It feels like that moment on the steps, Foggy’s fingers on his face. Everything’s quiet and still and waiting for one of them to do something.

“Matty,” Foggy says, choked, one hand moving to stroke through Matt’s hair.

Matt starts to say something—to tell him that it’s okay, that Matt doesn’t know what he’s doing either, that he can touch him if he wants. Matt’s getting used to being touched. He opens his mouth to say _something_ when he hears Foggy’s mom coming towards the door.

“Uhm,” he says, sitting up before she gets a hand on the doorknob. Foggy gets off of him immediately, both of them trying to straighten themselves up before she steps inside.

“Sorry to interrupt, sweetie,” she says, not seeming to notice that anything’s wrong. “I was thinking about ordering pizza later and I was going to ask if your friend just wants to stay the night? It’s already dark out.”

Walking when it’s dark out is basically the same as walking when it’s light, for him, but he gets it.

“Oh,” Foggy says, nervously. “Do you—do you want to sleep here, Matt?”

On the couch, probably. A sleeping bag.

But he’s in Foggy’s _bed_.

“Yeah,” he says. “I’d love that.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh matt

“The couch is uncomfortable to sleep on,” Foggy says, “and not _normal_ uncomfortable. Like, Medieval torture uncomfortable.”

“That’s okay,” Matt says, shrugging. “I’ve probably slept on worse.”

“Okay, give it a shot and tell me that again,” Foggy says, amused, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Did you forget the thing where I lived in an orphanage?” Matt says, sitting down and moving to lie on his back. “They weren’t exactly known for comf—oh my _god, why_.”

“Never doubt me, Murdock,” Foggy says, smugly.

“Why does it feel like I’m being slowly stabbed?” he asks, getting to his feet quickly and making a face.

“I think it’s cursed,” Foggy says. “Anyway, you can take my bed and I can briefly martyr myself. I don’t mind.”

“No,” Matt says, immediately. “That’s okay, I’ll be fine.”

“Being slowly stabbed?”

“It’s _fine_ , I’m good at dealing with pain,” Matt says, before he realizes what he’s saying. He hears Foggy’s breath catch a little and shakes his head, gesturing vaguely at his eyes. “That sounds bad. From, uhm—from the accident.”

Close enough to true. Matt learned to deal with a lot of things after that, even more after his dad died.

“Just because you _can_ deal with it doesn’t mean you _should_ ,” Foggy says, putting his hands on his hips. He’s a lot like his mom, from what Matt can tell. It’s—really cute. “You are now not allowed to sleep on my couch. I forbid it.”

“So, what are we gonna do?” Matt asks, echoing him with his hands on his hips.

“We can share my bed,” Foggy says. He says it without his voice shaking at all but Matt can practically feel how nervous he is. Or maybe that’s just him. “If you want. I could go sleep in the bathtub. But—if you want.”

Matt’s hands drop down to his sides again.

“Yeah,” he says. “We—we can share.”

It’s just sleeping. The last time Matt slept in a bed with someone else, it was his dad. First when he was little and couldn’t sleep, and later, when having another person to focus on helped to block out the rest of the noises. His dad didn’t know that. He just wanted to be there for him.

“Okay!” Foggy says. “Problem solved, I guess.”

Foggy lets Matt borrow a pair of pajama pants and a t-shirt and Matt changes in the bathroom, so Foggy’s already in bed when he comes back. Matt hesitates for a moment, listening to Foggy’s heart racing, but shakes it off before he climbs into bed next to him. It’s a twin bed, so, lying side by side, they’re still pressed up against each other.

“Are you sure this is okay?” Foggy asks.

“It’s great,” Matt says, then winces. “I mean—fine. It’s fine.”

They lie silently for a few too-long moments and Matt can’t help but think about what happened earlier. He wonders if Fogg will say something about it or if maybe Matt imagined it—just made it out to be more than it was because there’s something about Foggy that gets under his skin in a way that’s warm and terrifying.

He doesn’t even know what he’d do if Foggy—if Foggy did what Matt thought he might do.

Foggy’s voice breaks a little when he whispers, “Good night, Matty.”

“Good night,” Matt whispers back.

He shuts his eyes. He doesn’t sleep for another hour, not until Foggy stops pretending to sleep beside him and it doesn’t feel so strange to shift a little bit closer, just to be more comfortable.

*

Matt wakes up to the sound of Foggy snoring softly sometime in the middle of the night, and it takes him a long time to reorient himself to where he is because it’s kind of changed. He turned over on his side at some point and has an arm thrown over Foggy, a leg slung between his, his head on Foggy’s chest.

He’s got an apology in his throat but Foggy’s got his arms around Matt, too.

If Matt were better, he’d untangle them and go sleep on the couch, but he’s—not. He breathes in with his nose pressed to Foggy’s t-shirt. He smells like all teenage boys do, more or less, but it makes Matt want to press in even closer.

All at once, he feels sick and guilty and—scared, almost, of what’s happening between them, but none of those are stronger than how _good_ it feels to be held. He falls slowly back to sleep listening to the sound of Foggy’s heart and Foggy’s breath, blocking out the rest of the world.

*

The first thing Matt hears, before he’s completely awake, is Foggy saying groggily, “Oh, wow,” before his heart starts racing.

He yawns before he lifts his head, realizing that he’s practically lying on top of Foggy now. Foggy’s staying still, but he hasn’t let go of Matt, either.

“Sorry,” Matt says, laughing and sitting up carefully, feeling a loss when Foggy’s arms fall away. “It’s a small bed and you’re—really warm, dude.”

“Yeah,” Foggy says. “I’ve been told I’m comfortable.”

“Have a lot of guys sleep over?” Matt asks. It’s a shitty joke, but he’s kind of curious, too—if this isn’t new for Foggy like it is for him.

“Just you, actually,” Foggy says.

Matt tries to think of something to say and just laughs again, turning his head away because he can feel Foggy staring at him. He knows that he needs to leave before he does something stupid, because he _knows_ that he’s going to do something stupid, but he doesn’t think he can get out of bed yet. Not between waiting to see what Foggy’s going to do and the fact that he’s half-hard in borrowed pajama pants.

“Matt, please don’t hate me, but I just _have_ to—” Foggy says, desperately, moving closer.

“What?” Matt asks, but then Foggy leans in and kisses him quick and soft before he can even react.

“. . .was that okay?” Foggy asks, quietly.

Matt’s not sure if it is but he lets his body make the decision to basically pounce, pulling Foggy into another kiss, too wet and frantic but it’s like sparks underneath his skin—like this is what bodies are _for_. The sound and feeling of Foggy moaning against his mouth makes Matt want to climb on top of him and touch him, but that’s what snaps him out of it, suddenly paralyzed with fear.

“Matt?” Foggy asks, touching his cheek.

“I—I’m sorry, I need to—” he draws off, breath coming too fast as he stumbles to his feet and grabs his shoes and clothes from where they were resting on Foggy’s desk chair.

“Hey, _no_ ,” Foggy says, upset. “We should talk about it.”

“I can’t,” Matt says. “I can’t, I’m sorry.”

“Did I—did I do something wrong?” Foggy asks. It sounds like he's about to cry, but Matt’s already on his way out the front door, head spinning.

*

Matt shuts and locks the door to his room when he gets back and kicks off the shoes he pulled on in the lobby of Foggy’s building, throwing himself onto his bed and burying his face in his pillow to scream as loud as he can. He’s never hated himself more than he has right now, he’s sure of it, and it feels like something inside of him is going to implode.

He doesn’t know what to do about liking Foggy. He doesn’t know what to do about liking a _guy_. He feels kind of like he’s going to _throw up his heart,_ because he wants to go back and kiss Foggy for the rest of the day but it’s not supposed to be like this.

He was supposed to just have a best friend—his first one. He was supposed to be normal for once. And if he lets himself have this, he’s going to fuck up what he has with Foggy even faster.

He lies there until he feels like he’s going to jump out of his skin and then he changes out of Foggy’s clothes and into something suitable to go to Fogwell’s and punch something. It might distract him for a while. And it’s good practice.

*

Foggy’s at his locker when Matt gets to school on Monday morning. He says Matt’s name and Matt automatically freezes and starts to turn away when Foggy grabs his arm gently, says, “Don’t run away from me again, Murdock. We’re skipping class.”

“I have a quiz.”

“You’ll make it up,” Foggy says, then steps in closer to say, voice low, “You can’t just kiss a guy and run away, buddy.”

“I shouldn’t have done it,” Matt says.

“Kiss me?” Foggy asks. “Or run away?”

“. . .both,” Matt says, after a second, dropping his head when Foggy makes a soft, hurt noise.

“ _Wow_ , okay—come on,” Foggy says, laughing sharply. “There’s no gym classes this early, we’re hiding in the locker room.”

Matt tries to protest, but he ends up following Foggy through the crowded hallway and through the side door of the gym. It’s completely empty; their footsteps echo on the hardwood floor all the way into the locker room.

“I like girls,” Matt says, too loudly, as soon as the door shuts behind them. Foggy scoffs.

“So do I,” he says, “but I like _you_ , too.”

Matt sits down on a bench and crosses his arms over his chest. He wants to sink into the floor.

“I got confused,” he says. That’s honest, at least, even though the way he felt kissing Foggy wasn’t all that confusing. Even in the mess tangled up in Matt’s head, the one that’s always there, it felt right. “I can’t like you like that.”

Foggy sighs and walks closer.

“Can’t?” he asks, softly. “Or don’t?”

“. . .don’t,” Matt lies. Foggy’s breath catches.

“I don’t believe you,” he says, kind of choked.

“Fine,” Matt says, miserably. “That doesn’t change anything.”

“You _kissed_ me,” Foggy says. “Why did you kiss me?”

“I _told_ you, I was confused,” Matt says, feeling a lot like he’s drowning in how much it hurts to lie about this. “It felt nice, but I’m not—I’m straight.”

“. . .okay,” Foggy says, faintly. “You’re straight. Sorry for. . .I don’t even know. Just—sorry.”

“I’m sorry for running away,” Matt says.

“Yeah, that really sucked,” Foggy says, picking up his backpack from where he dropped it on the floor and obviously trying to sound casual. “It’s fine, though. Uhm, I’m—gonna go do something. I’ll see you in English.”

“Wait, Foggy,” Matt says, standing up as Foggy’s headed for the door. Foggy stops and turns around. “Are we okay?”

“Yeah, Matt,” Foggy says, heart beating hard. “We’re okay.”

Matt nods, dropping his face into his hands as soon as the door shuts behind Foggy. He knows that they’re really not, but he also knows that he’s not good for Foggy. That he deserves someone who won’t have to lie to him and someone who knows how to—have feelings appropriately.

It’s got to be better this way.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you guys, i love this dumb story

Karen drops down next to Matt, who’s sitting on his backpack, underneath the bleachers.

“Okay, you look rough,” she says. “Rougher than usual.”

“Mmm, thanks,” Matt says, not even raising his head towards her.

“Are you not sleeping?” she asks, leaning in a little closer than Matt is comfortable with right now and pulling back as soon as he cringes and shifts away.

“I’m sleeping enough,” he says.

He’s not, but sometimes when he’s miserable it’s kind of like he makes everything worse by not even trying to deal with his senses. He lets himself get unfocused, lets everything get under his skin, and the city’s loud outside his window. So—he’s not really sleeping. It’s not new, though.

“Not the government recommended eight hours,” Karen says, dryly, but he thinks she might actually be concerned. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” Matt says, immediately.

“I have eyes and ears everywhere, Murdock,” she says, gently. “I’ll find out anyway.”

He doesn’t think she actually has the place bugged or anything, and she’s not exactly popular, but she definitely has a way of finding out what she wants to know. And—Matt’s not sure where this is coming from, because he shouldn’t want this, but—he kinds of wants to tell her.

He wonders if Foggy’s telling people.

“Is it your boyfriend?” Karen asks, and Matt groans and drops his head, curling his arms around himself. “Oh shit. Did you break up?”

“I fucked _everything_ up, Karen,” he says, voice breaking.

Foggy hasn’t been talking to him. Well—that’s not true, because Foggy’s been talking to him in class like everything’s normal but he keeps saying that he’s busy working on a group project over lunch and he never tries to do anything with him after school. Like he doesn’t want to be alone with him.

“ _Do_ you actually like him?” Karen asks, softly, after Matt tells her everything, reaching out carefully to touch Matt’s arm. Matt doesn’t move away.

“No,” he mumbles, turning his head away.

“Matt,” she says, tightening her hand gently. “Pretending it’s not happening is only going to make it worse.”

Matt takes a deep breath and stands up, walking a few steps away and wiping at this eyes. He can’t believe he cried in front of her like a little kid. He’s going to transfer schools again and just keep to himself—third time’s the charm.

“I don’t know,” he says, eventually. “It’s—it’s complicated. I don’t want to hurt him.”

“Sounds like you already kind of did,” Karen says, cautiously. She’s still sitting on the ground but Matt can tell that she’s watching him intently as he paces further away and runs a hand through his hair. It hurts—he’s had a headache for four days straight. “You didn’t answer my question, though.”

“It’s _complicated_ ,” Matt repeats, stubbornly.

“Sure, but do you _like him_?” Karen asks, firmer.

“ _Yes!”_ Matt yells, unintentionally loud but it feels like something snaps. He covers his face with his hand and lowers his voice. “Yes, okay? I fucking like him. I like him so much that turning him down made me feel like I was going to _die_.”

“Okay, I’m not going to pretend like I understand your reasoning at all,” Karen says, sighing loudly, getting to her feet, “and I think you’re being kind of an idiot but I’m going to hug you right now. You can say no but I really think you need it.”

Matt really wants a hug.

“Whatever,” he says, quietly, shrugging his shoulders, and Karen makes a soft _uh huh_ noise and walks over to wrap her arms around him and pull him close. It takes a moment for Matt to hug her back but Karen seems determined to hold on, reaching up to slide fingers into his hair when he hides his face in her neck. He could cry again right now, but he bites it back. He’s already embarrassed himself.

“You should talk to him,” Karen says.

“Too late,” Matt murmurs. “He’ll hate me.”

“That kid thinks you hung the _moon_ ,” Karen says. “He’ll understand.”

Matt heard the sound of Foggy’s voice after Matt told him and can’t stop hearing it. He doesn’t think he’ll forgive him.

He wouldn’t blame him if he didn’t.

*

Matt’s walking home alone when he hears Jessica Jones somewhere far behind him saying, “You’re less intimidating than a fucking golden retriever.”

“I don’t think we need to _intimidate_ him,” Danny says, sounding like he’s out of breath from keeping up with her. “We could just _talk_ to him.”

“You are a _puppy_ ,” Jessica says. “Just stand behind me and bark.”

It makes sense that Foggy would tell them—it’s not like Matt’s his only friend.

Matt sighs and stops in his tracks, next to a coffee shop. They’re far enough away that he has time to go and spend the last of his allowance (another nice thing about his foster parents—they leave $10 in an envelope on his bed every week like it’s a drug deal or something) on a black coffee.

He’s doesn’t actually like the taste of it, but it’s better than artificial shit, at least.

He’s sitting on a table outside when Jessica says, “Hey, Murdock.”

Matt angles his head in her direction, raising his eyebrows.

They sit down at the table with him, everyone quiet for a long, awkward moment before Danny says, “So, no big deal, we’re just here to talk about whatever happened between you and—”

“What the _fuck_ did you do to Nelson?” Jessica asks, dramatically, slamming a hand down on the table. Matt grabs his coffee just in time, startled. He figured they knew everything already, that Foggy would’ve needed to talk about it. Or wanted to, at least.

“. . .what did he tell you?” he asks.

“Nothing,” she says. “He won’t tell us anything—we just know that you two are on the outs and he’s _sad—_ which _sucks.”_

“It does suck,” Danny echoes.

“Yeah, I agree,” Matt says, softly, slumping down in his chair.

“Then fix it,” Jessica says. “Like, today. If I have to deal with another day of Foggy being _quiet_ , I’ll have to actually break you. It’s disturbing.”

“It _is_ disturbing,” Danny echoes.

“Good boy,” Jessica says, and Danny makes a noise like he’s not sure whether to be pleased or offended. Matt takes a long drink of coffee. He should have made a run for it, because he doesn’t have a good explanation and he doesn’t know how to fix it and it would’ve been better if he’d never let himself be a part of Foggy’s life to begin with.

“I’ll leave him alone,” he says, curling his fingers into fists, digging his fingernails into his palms until they hurt. “You can tell him that. He doesn’t have to be my friend.”

“Fine,” Jessica says, flatly.

“Fine?” Danny asks. “That’s not fine.”

“It’s _fine_ ,” Matt says, huffing when he picks up his coffee and his cane and stands up, backing up a few cautious steps. “I won’t be a problem anymore.”

He walks away before they can say anything else, but he can hear them arguing as he walks home; Danny insists that Foggy doesn’t want to stop hanging out with him, but Matt doesn’t believe him. Jessica doesn’t want anything to do with him.

Which—yeah, fair enough.

*

They’re in the boys’ bathroom and stealing a kid’s _lunch money_. It’s almost too much of a stereotype for Matt to even bother, but he’s pretty sure that he’s gained enough notoriety to just scare them off, so he doesn’t have to hurt anyone over a couple of bucks.

Sure enough, they stop roughing the kid up as soon as they notice him, but one of them says, “Dude, get his hat so we can see who he is,” and Matt swears under his breath and kicks his legs out from under him, followed by his friend.

They go down hard, apparently too surprised to get up quickly. The kid they were harassing already made a break for it, so Matt just lowers his voice and says, “Keep your hands to yourself,” before he turns on a heel and runs out the door. He tossed his things into the alcove under the stairs that he stumbled down to get there, so he sinks down against the wall where he’s hidden to take a moment to breathe.

He pulls his knees up to his chest when he hears the guys leave the bathroom and start up the stairs.

“What _is_ he, a fucking ninja?” one of them asks.

“Who knows?” the other one says, “but he’s fucked with half the football team already. They’ve got a bet to see who can catch him first.”

“Is there a prize?”

“Probably getting to be the one to break his face.”

Matt stifles a laugh with his hand, heart racing.

He’d like to see them fucking _try_.

*

Even though Foggy hasn’t been eating with him, Matt still climbs up to where they usually sit to eat on the bleachers every day. He feels his _heart stop_ when he hears Foggy there after they hardly talked during class.

“Hi,” he says, hesitantly, sitting down a good foot away from him.

“Hey,” Foggy says. “I thought maybe you’d found somewhere else to eat.”

“I like it out here,” Matt says. “It’s a good view.”

Foggy laughs then bites it back.

“Look, I’m sorry for whatever Jessica and Danny said to you,” he says. “I didn’t anticipate them stalking you, which was—stupid on my part.”

“It’s okay,” Matt says.

“It’s not,” Foggy says, turning towards him. Normally, Matt would be sitting a lot closer. They’d be touching, probably. “It’s _really_ not, because I don’t want to stop being friends with you. And I hate that you thought that.”

“I didn’t think you’d say it,” Matt says, quietly. “I just thought it might be easier if I did it for you.”

“I’m not going to kick you out of my life because you don’t want to make out with me,” Foggy says, laughing. “I might need to lick my wounds a little, but—Matty, you’re my best friend. Unless I freaked you out too much—”

“ _No_ ,” Matt says, quickly. “No. You didn’t.”

“Okay, good,” Foggy says, fondly. “Then we can go back to how things were, more or less. Sound good?”

“Sounds great,” Matt says, smiling.

“Is it too weird if I hug you?” Foggy asks, and Matt was relieved before, but now he feels like everything might actually be okay. Instead of answering, he just turns and opens his arms at the same time Foggy scoots forward to hug him tight. He thought Foggy might break it off quick, but he doesn’t.

He waits for Matt to break it first.

*

Matt passes Karen on the front steps as he’s leaving and she follows him, says, “How’s my favorite criminal?”

“I don’t know what you’re referring to,” he says, placidly, and then he remembers. “Hey, do you know anything about—”

“A bounty on your head, Robin Hood style?” she interrupts, happily. “Yes, I’ve heard.”

“Okay,” Matt says, laughing. “Good to know.”

“Are you scared?” she asks, curiously, like she doesn’t automatically assume that he will be.

“Of the _football_ team?” he asks. “No, I think I’ll be fine.”

“They’re big,” she says, skeptically, “and mean and full of unearned confidence. What if they gang up on you? Using literal teamwork?”

“I’ll be fine,” he repeats. He’s fast and smart and, if all else fails, he can just run away. It’s worked for him so far. “I might need a mask that won’t come off, though.”

“. . .huh,” Karen says. It’s a loaded _huh_. Matt’s more scared of that huh than he’s scared of the entire football team.

*

“This place smells like latex and—old vomit?” Matt says, leaning against a shelf while Karen digs through a bin of half price Halloween masks. As soon as she had the idea, she dragged him in the opposite direction, ten blocks away to a costume shop.

“They do rentals,” she says. “It’s not Halloween if nobody throws up on you.”

“I’ll take your word on it,” he says, making a face. She just hums non-commitally and keeps digging, so he takes a step forward to feel what’s hanging from the racks in front of him. He’s never actually touched a dead animal but he thinks this might be what it feels like. “Hey, what am I touching right now?”

She turns around to look.

“A beard,” she says. “Possibly from a real human. It looks like there’s still skin attached.”

He drops his hand and frowns at her and she snorts.

“Come here,” she says. “I think I found something.”

When he walks over, she presses something rounded and plastic into his hands. He runs his fingers over it speculatively, feeling two sharp points on one side, and asks, “. . .Batman?”

“In a variety of colors,” she says. “Hold it up.”

Matt obliges, holding the mask up against his face. He might be able to cushion the inside so it hurts less when he gets hit and there are two thick elastic bands in the back to hold it on. Not perfect, but a hell of a lot better than a _hat._ He didn’t get far enough at his last school to need a costume.

“What do you think?” he asks.

“I think,” Karen says, sounding proud, “you look really good in red.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote outlines for seven more chapters of this while I was on vacation and that's TOO MANY chapters but we'll see what happens, I guess??

Matt knows that the small group of football players pretending like they’re bullying someone under the bleachers are trying their hardest, so he throws them a bone, grabs the mask from his bag and makes sure it’s on right before he drops down from one of the low seats and surprises them.

One of them bursts out laughing when he sees the mask, says, “What the fuck is _that_?” but Matt makes sure that none of them are laughing anymore.

It’s not like he’s wearing spandex or anything.

He’s not _star-spangled._

*

“Hey, we’re going to the movies,” Foggy says, leaning against the locker next to Matt and gently kicking his ankle, like he’s telling him exactly where he’s standing. “Want to come with?”

“Who’s we?” Matt asks, skeptically.

“Uhm, Luke, Claire—you haven’t met Claire, you’ll love her,” Foggy says, brightly, then adds quiet and fast, “Oh, and Jessica.”

“Oh.”

They hate him. Well, Jessica hates him as a verified fact, but Matt’s pretty sure that they _all_ hate him. He doesn’t want to get between Foggy and his friends, so he just has to get out of this without being obvious about the fact that he’s getting out of it. And then keep doing that forever. Because that’s how long he wants to be friends with Foggy.

“It’s this terrible romcom that’s coming out,” Foggy continues, eagerly. “Very cheesy, _very_ straight—oh, no offense.”

“None taken,” Matt says, laughing even though it hurts a little. “I can’t, though. I’ve got to work on that Gatsby essay.”

“You finished that two days ago,” Foggy says, amused.

“. . .you don’t know that,” Matt says, even though he does. He kind of tells Foggy everything, except—well, all of the major shit. Everything that matters. God, Matt doesn’t blame them for hating him at all.

“Yes, I _do_ ,” Foggy says, “because you were _very_ smug about it and you judged my poor time management. Why don’t you want to come?”

“I don’t—like movies,” Matt says, then immediately pulls a face at his own choices, shaking his head when Foggy bursts out laughing.

“You’re _so_ bad at that, it’s amazing,” he says, stepping in a little closer to touch Matt’s shoulder. It feels like they’re relearning how to touch each other, only—less. Less meaning. Less likelihood that Matt will fuck up again. “Tell me the truth, Matty.”

Matt’s bad at that, too. He sighs, turning to close his locker before he faces Foggy again.

“They don’t like me,” he says, as flatly as he can. He does his best to pretend that he doesn’t have any emotions about anything, but it doesn’t work with Foggy. “I don’t mind, I just don’t want to make things weird.”

“Okay _, fuck_ that,” Foggy says. It’s very emphatic; people stop to look at them, but Foggy doesn’t adjust his tone at all as he keeps talking, like this is the most important thing that he’s ever said. “I don’t think you’re right—except for Jessica, Jessica hates you, but that’s just who she is—but even if you are. . .you’re my _best_ friend, Matt. They’ll deal.”

Matt doesn’t want everyone else in Foggy’s life to have to _deal_ with him, but also. They’re best friends.

He sighs.

“I’m taking that as a sigh of resignation,” Foggy says, sounding pleased with himself, clapping Matt on the shoulder. “You’re coming with me, Murdock. I’m buying you popcorn and providing flawless narration.”

“Fine,” Matt says, leaning maybe too heavily into him as Foggy slips an arm around him to lead him down the hall. “I won’t be happy about it, though.”

“I would never expect that, buddy.”

They’re close to the front door when, somewhere behind him, Matt can hear two guys talking about them, about how they’re touching, about—he goes cold and is about to turn around and _do_ something when one of them walks up to knock into Foggy’s side, hard enough that him and Matt both stumble sideways into the wall.

“ _Fags_ ,” the guy says. Also loud enough that people stop to look, but he just keeps walking, tailed by a couple of laughing idiots.

“. . .at least be more _creative_ with your hate crime, asshole!” Foggy yells, righting himself and stepping away from Matt, making a frustrated noise. Matt’s shaking. He wants to go after him but there’s no way to do it without getting caught and Matt didn’t recognize his voice. He might if he heard it again, though, so he just has to listen and he can find him and then—oh, Foggy’s talking.

“What did you say?” he asks.

“I said I’m _sorry_ ,” Foggy says, sighing.

“Why are _you_ sorry?” Matt asks.

“Because nobody would assume that you were gay if you weren’t hanging around with me,” Foggy says, shifting uncomfortably on his feet. “I can just stop touching you in public. Or, I mean—not that we’re going to touch in private, but—”

“You’re not going to stop doing _anything_ because of guys like that,” Matt interrupts him, firmly, stepping close again. “Give me a hug right now.”

“Matt,” Foggy says, laughing.

Matt hugs him instead, tight enough that Foggy laughs louder and holds on. Any excuse, really, but he’s not going to let anybody hurt Foggy. He wants to tell him that, but a hug will have to do for now.

“C’mon,” he says, gruffly, taking his arm and tugging him towards the doors. “You’re buying me popcorn.”

*

When they get to the theater, Jessica is the only one waiting outside, and Matt doesn’t need to be able to see to know that she’s glaring at him. It’s kind of impressive. She could probably teach him some things about telling people to fuck off without telling them to fuck off—if she didn’t want him dead, at least.

“Luke and Claire found better things to do,” she says.

“Probably each other,” Foggy says, agreeably. “So, it’s. . .just us?”

“Yep,” Jessica says, lips popping on the _p_.

“Fun,” Matt says, faintly.

Inside, Jessica sits between them and refuses to move, flatly narrating the movie when Foggy tells her that’s why he needs to sit next to Matt.

Jessica mumbling, “The girl just kissed the guy, you can probably tell it’s romantic because of the shitty music,” is not the same thing as Foggy narrating but it’s kind of weirdly sweet that she does it at all.

Not that he’s paying any real attention to it. He spends the entire movie thinking about what he could be doing if he was sitting beside Foggy instead, if he hadn’t said no and broke Foggy’s heart, if he could hold his hand and sneak kisses and just _be_ with him.

It’s a better story than what’s happening on screen.

*

Afterward, Foggy runs to the bathroom and Matt and Jessica stand silently for a full thirty seconds before Matt says, kind of desperately, “Look, I promise I’m not going to hurt him. It’s okay if you hate me, but—I’m _not_ going to hurt him and I’m not going to let anyone else hurt him, either.”

“. . .who else is going to hurt him?” she asks.

“I—I don’t know,” Matt says, carefully.

“But _you’ll_ protect him?” Jessica asks.

Matt has no idea what her tone is—mocking and confused and suspicious all at once.

“I will,” he says, simply, and Jessica groans.

“There’s clearly shit you’re not telling me,” she says, lowering her voice when she notices Foggy coming over to them, “but I can tell that you’re being real right now and—I’ll back off a little. But I’ve got my eyes on you.”

“Of course,” Matt says, nodding.

“Everything okay, kids?” Foggy asks, stopping next to them and resting a hand on Matt’s arm.

“Just telling Murdock what a lovely time I had on our date,” Jessica says, dryly, backing away from them. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go kill Luke for abandoning me.”

“He’s our friend, maybe just maim him!” Foggy calls after her before squeezing Matt’s arm gently. “So, what was she actually saying? Veiled threats?”

“I—I told her that I wasn’t going to hurt you,” Matt says, because he wants Foggy to know it, too, because he should be honest when he can. “I think she believed me.”

“. . .oh, good,” Foggy says, softly. “That’s good, Matty.”

“Yeah,” Matt says, smiling. “At least I might not be next on her list to maim now.”

Foggy’s laugh is loud and— _adorable_.

“We can only hope,” he says. “Come on, I’ll walk you home.”

*

They talk about the movie on the way back, Foggy filling in all the pertinent visual details that he’s sure that Jessica didn’t provide and that make the movie seem even worse than it did before. Foggy’s doing a very accurate imitation of the main blonde character’s best friend, who’s apparently brunette and wears glasses and is 5% less attractive, when they stop at Matt’s building.

“Well, here we are,” Foggy says.

“Thanks for inviting me,” Matt says.

“Sorry it was deeply weird,” Foggy says. “Oh, I have to ask you to do something else that’s going to make you uncomfortable! Feel free to tell me to fuck off, I will fully understand.”

“No,” Matt says, smiling. “What is it?”

“My mom’s kind of obsessed with you,” Foggy says, “because she thinks you’re very polite and sweet and I _tried_ to tell her that really you’re just—the _worst—”_ He draws off laughing when Matt smacks his arm lightly. “No, I verified the fact that you’re great and she also thinks that you’re too skinny and basically wants you to come to dinner so she can feed you and dote on you.”

“Wow,” Matt says, wrinkling his nose.

“I know,” Foggy says. “You can say no.”

“Do _you_ want me to come?” Matt asks.

“Of course,” Foggy says, immediately. “I mean—just to make her happy.”

“Right,” Matt says, swallowing hard before he smiles again, kind of thrown by the idea of Foggy's family wanting him to spend time with them, by-- _any_ family. “Okay, I’ll come. Just let me know when.”

“Oh, good,” Foggy says. “Uhm—hug goodbye?”

Matt nods and steps in to hug him first, breathing in deep against Foggy’s hair. He mostly smells like the theater right now, popcorn and sugar, but it just makes Matt want to get in closer to smell his skin.

Oh, god, he really _is_ a freak.

“Okay, bye,” he says, quickly, stepping backward and almost tripping on one of the steps before he turns to climb them. Maybe he does need to stop touching Foggy.

He’s got shitty impulse control and too many opportunities.

*

“Hey, I’ve got something you need to see,” Karen says, sitting down heavily on the ground next to Matt and holding out a phone in front of his face. He raises his eyebrows and it takes her ten seconds before she says, “ _Shit_ , sorry, I’m just—it’s you. It’s you in the mask on Instagram. There’s an aesthetic filter, it really brings out the red.”

“. . .okay,” Matt says, taking a deep breath and trying not to let the feeling that the world is crashing down around him hit him yet. “Can you tell that it’s me?”

“No,” Karen says, immediately. “God, no, sorry. I should’ve led with that. It’s a really blurry action shot and your tendency towards generic black t-shirts is great camouflage.”

“But they got a picture,” Matt says.

“They got a picture,” Karen agrees. “By the way. . .could I put this on my front page?”

“Seriously?”

“I have an obligation to report the news, Matt!” she says. “I’m the voice of the people.”

“Nobody even reads the newspaper,” Matt mutters.

“ _Mean_ ,” she says, clearly unoffended, “and a strong argument for my case.”

Matt lies down in the grass instead of responding, shutting his eyes. The football team is practicing on the field not far away from where they are under the bleachers. There’s the faint smell of sweat and shitty body spray on the breeze. It reminds him why he’s doing all of this.

“Go ahead,” he says, eventually. “Do you think everybody’s seen it anyway?”

“Yeah, kid,” Karen says, lying next to him. “You’re a big deal.”

Matt huffs out a quiet laugh,

“Great.”

“Wanna take a nap?” Karen asks, nudging him with her elbow. “I think you need a nap and I— _always_ need a nap.”

He shouldn’t, because he really needs to get to English, but—she’s not wrong.

“Just five minutes,” he says, yawning as he moves closer.

*

Matt’s still mostly asleep when he’s climbing up to meet Foggy for lunch. They slept straight through the next period; they’d bundled up Matt’s oversized hoodie for a pillow and he woke up with Karen spooning him aggressively, which was nicer than he’d ever admit to her.

“Hey, where were you?” Foggy asks, sounding amused. “Nice hair, by the way.”

“Oh,” Matt murmurs, making a face and reaching up to feel that his hair’s all over the place.

“Sex hair?” Foggy asks, curiously.

“Nap hair,” Matt says, sitting next to him. “Karen and I skipped gym and fell asleep under the bleachers.”

“Karen who you’re _definitely_ not dating,” Foggy says.

“Yes,” Matt says, giving him a look. “That Karen.”

“You make it seem like it’s outrageous that you might be interested in dating a gorgeous blonde,” Foggy says, clearly enjoying himself even though there’s a weird edge to this conversation that Matt’s not completely sure how to approach. “I’m not the weird one here, Matthew.”

Matt bites back the urge to tell Foggy that he has a type, then, but instead he says, “How would I even know she’s gorgeous? Or blonde?”

“I assume she’d have told you at some point during all of the illicit in-school canoodling you’ve been doing,” Foggy says, then bursts out laughing when Matt frowns, reaching out to smooth his hair down before taking his hand away quickly. “I’m joking, buddy. I’m sure you were just taking a weird platonic outdoor nap.”

“I _was_ ,” Matt says.

“Absolutely,” Foggy says. “Okay, you’ve got the grumpiest face—it’s very cute but I’ll change the subject. Have you heard all of the news about Baby Batman?”

“No,” Matt lies, shaking his head. “What’d he do this time?”

“Made a really dumb fashion choice,” Foggy says, happily, “in the form of, like, an off-brand bright red actual Batman mask. I can’t even sufficiently describe how dumb it is to you, so take what you’re picturing and multiply it by three.”

. . .Matt didn’t think it was _that_ dumb.

“That’s it?” he asks, trying not to look hurt. “A new mask?”

“Well, the new mask came with a new name,” Foggy says, “but he’ll always be Baby Batman to me. Much more fun to say than Daredevil.”

“Daredevil?” Matt echoes.

“Yep,” Foggy says. “I guess he is both daring and—deviling.”

“Yeah,” Matt murmurs, smiling.

Daredevil.

 _Huh_.


	6. Chapter 6

“It’s official,” Karen says, cheerfully, taking Matt’s arm when she catches up to him in the hallway after first period. “No masks allowed at school. Zero tolerance.”

“There’s also no fighting allowed,” Matt says, smiling at her. “That’s obviously working out well.”

“Look at you, making a difference,” she says. “You make me prouder every day.”

“Shut up,” Matt says, laughing, turning his head because he smiles even harder at that. He’s got an image to maintain.

He hears Foggy coming up behind them and acts surprised when he steps up to take Matt’s other arm.

“What are you so happy about?” Foggy asks, amused.

“Just—a good day,” Matt says, turning his smile on him even though his heart aches at the sound of Foggy’s racing.

“You’re telling me that you, Matthew Murdock, voted most likely to be scowling, is having a _good_ day?” Foggy asks, and Matt sighs as Karen starts laughing, tugging on Matt’s arm so he stops.

“I’ll leave you two alone,” she says, letting go of him and taking a few steps back. “I have to break into the teacher’s lounge.”

“Why?” Foggy asks, laughing.

“You’ll find out in Friday’s edition of the newspaper,” she says, coyly, before she pats Matt’s shoulder. “I just dramatically winked. See you later, Matt.”

Foggy pulls Matt a little closer as she walks away.

“Geez, I kind of want to date her if you don’t,” he says.

Matt goes cold.

“Oh,” he says, making a face. “I mean—I could—”

“Oh my god, chill,” Foggy says, laughing. “I would never do anything to upset Frank Castle. I’ve had one conversation with him and I think it took two years off my life.”

“I’d set you up if you wanted, though,” Matt manages to say, even though he’s basically gritting his teeth, because he wants both of them to be happy but not—not _together_.

“That’s okay,” Foggy says, letting go of him and offering his arm to Matt instead, so he can hold on as they start to walk again. “Honestly, she’s not even really my type.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Foggy says, lightly. “I’m mostly into brunettes lately.”

Matt almost trips over his own feet at that but Foggy holds him up.

He always does.

*

Doing shit after school is a little more dangerous because teachers aren’t trapped in their classrooms and everything’s more clustered and chaotic and, really, if it comes down to it, he _probably_ shouldn’t fight an adult.

He _would_.

But he shouldn’t.

He’s just given a crying sophomore time to get away and planning to let out some of his frustration on the guy who was hurting him when one of the gym teachers yells, “Hey! Stop!” from a few yards away.

“Shit,” Matt hisses, shoving the guy down and running in the opposite direction, realizing he’s heading towards a crowd before he takes a deep breath and flips his way onto a second floor window ledge.

He’s unsteady enough that he gives them all time to see him before he makes his way up the side of the building and to the roof, where he collapses on the ground and catches his breath.

He has to be more careful.

He’s got a lot more to lose than at his last school.

*

“Okay, so,” Foggy says, dropping down next to Matt on the bleachers later that day. “It appears that Daredevil aka Baby Batman has, like, _actual_ superpowers.”

“Oh,” Matt says. “X-ray vision?”

“Nope,” Foggy says, nudging Matt with his elbow gently in greeting. “Par _kour_.”

“That’s—not a superpower, Foggy,” Matt says, laughing.

“I just watched a Snapchat video of him scaling the entire freaking _school,”_ Foggy says, opening his lunchbox and pulling open a sandwich bag. “He is not your average human, Matty.”

Matt digs his fingers into his knees, trying not to have a reaction.

“Uhm, could you tell who it was?” he asks. He hates the internet and everyone on it.

“Nah, it was from pretty far away,” Foggy says. “It’s kind of just a blur of back-flipping teenager—wait, why aren’t you eating?”

“I smelled whatever they were serving in the cafeteria and just—walked out,” Matt says, smiling at him. “I’m fine, though.”

“You will be,” Foggy says, “after you eat part of my mother’s legendary roast beef sandwich—don’t make that face, I will not _rest_ until—”

Matt sighs and offers a hand to take the half of the sandwich that Foggy tears off for him.

“Good boy,” Foggy says, leaning into him heavily, and Matt’s breath catches and blood rushes places that it shouldn’t and he’s going to have to throw himself off the bleachers and pray for the release of death because this can’t _be his life_.

“Thanks,” he murmurs.

“Oh—speaking of my mom’s cooking,” Foggy says, turning towards Matt so their knees knock together and Matt calmly picks up the binder sitting next to him to hold in his lap, “and I promise this wasn’t an elaborate set-up but—y’know how I said she wanted to cook you dinner? Well—she wants to cook you dinner.”

“Oh,” Matt says, wavery. “That’s—really nice of her.”

“Is Friday okay?” Foggy asks. “I know it’s short notice.”

“Well, I’ve got a very busy social life,” Matt says, dryly, tipping his head back for a moment before he turns it towards Foggy, “but I _think_ I can pencil you in.”

Foggy snorts.

“I’m honored,” he says. “Eat your sandwich, buddy, I’ve got a cookie with your name on it.”

*

Over the course of the next three days, Matt gets tripped in the hallway five times, along with two failed attempts. The first two he writes off. He’s prepared for the rest, though, because bullies travel in packs—especially when they can easily identify each other because they all wear the same color—which means he can hear them whispering about fucking with him using some colorful homophobic language.

He’ll probably end up having alone time with all of them at some point, so he figures he’ll let them tire themselves off, but—they do it in front of Foggy.

They’re leaving together Thursday afternoon when they actually surprise Matt, yanking his cane away from him and tripping him so he falls to his knees, catching himself on his hands. He’s pushing himself up and trying furiously to figure out exactly what he can get away with when Foggy steps in to take the cane back, saying, “Dude, he’s _blind_. If you’re going to fuck with someone, fuck with someone who can defend himself.”

Matt goes still for a moment. He’s heard it all before but it—hasn’t hurt this much in a while.

“You gonna punch me?” the guy asks, laughing.

“Chad, we gotta go,” another mumbles.

“Probably not very well, but yeah,” Foggy says, and Matt leverages himself to his feet and grabs his arm.

“Don’t,” he says, softly, taking his cane and raising his head towards—seriously, his name is _Chad_. “I’d stop if I were you.”

“Because your boyfriend’ll fight me?”

Foggy’s heart is racing and he’s bouncing on his toes a little. Matt’s pretty sure that Foggy would actually get in a fight for him, which is—it’s—nobody’s ever really fought for him. Not since his dad, at least. Matt feels a rush of warmth at the same time as the firm knowledge that he’s been repeating since he was a kid, since he lost everything—he doesn’t need anyone to protect him.

Besides—Foggy would definitely lose.

“No, _I_ will,” he says, dryly, like he’s being self-deprecating and not imagining how fun it’s going to be to break some of his bones. He turns to leave and is pretty sure that he makes it seem like an accident when his cane flips back to hit Chad directly in the crotch. He doesn’t linger to find out, though.

Foggy’s laughing when he catches up to Matt.

“He’s going to murder you,” he says, “but I think your death was not in vain. The look on his face was gold.”

“I don’t need you to take care of me,” Matt says, ignoring him and not stopping.

“. . .oh,” Foggy says, surprised. “I just thought that—”

“That I couldn’t defend myself,” Matt says.

He doesn’t _want_ to be mad at Foggy but he can’t keep his voice from getting sharp around the edges, egged on by every person who’s come across him and assumed that he was broken and helpless. Foggy swallows hard and his breath gets quick and Matt—should probably just get over it. It’s better cover if Foggy thinks he’s not capable, anyway.

“Hey, stop walking—I’m sorry, Matty,” Foggy says, carefully touching Matt’s arm when he stops and steps to the side of the hallway with him. “I just didn’t think that you’d be able to fight him, y’know? If you couldn’t see him.”

“But _you_ could?” Matt asks, raising his eyebrows.

“. . .touché,” Foggy says, laughing softly. “I shouldn’t have assumed, I’m sure you get that shit all of the time and I don’t want to make it worse for you—and, like, you’ve _clearly_ demonstrated that you can kick ass. Or, like. Balls, I guess.”

Matt tries not to smile but he can’t help it, and he’s pretty sure that Foggy’s smiling back.

“Can I make it up to you?” Foggy asks.

“Depends on how,” Matt says, after a second. He thinks about Foggy walking him back against the locker and kissing him and then he definitely stops thinking about that immediately, because he’s trained and has impressive self-control and oh, god, Foggy’s mouth on his and maybe his fingers under the waistband of Matt’s jeans—

Christ, he really has to move schools.

“I never got to take you out for ice cream,” Foggy says. “Wanna go on a date with absolutely no romantic connotations after school?”

Matt ducks his head and smiles and absolutely doesn’t blush.

“Yeah,” he says. “Sounds good.”

*

“I’m having dinner with Foggy’s parents,” Matt blurts out, when Karen sits down next to him on the grass under the bleachers on Friday.

Karen’s silent for a long moment before she starts laughing, sinking down against Matt, trying to talk but not able to get any words out until she hides her face in Matt’s shoulder and takes a deep breath.

“Sorry, sorry,” she says, righting herself. “You just sound _so_ scared.”

“His mom thinks I’m adorable or something,” Matt says, faintly. “I’m not adorable.”

“Can I be honest with you?” Karen asks, then continues before Matt has a chance to answer, “Once you get past the angry emo thing and the fact that you wear the same outfit every day _and_ the fact that I think you only learned to shower because you got a boyfriend—yes, I _know_ he’s not your boyfriend—anyway, once you get past that and before you get to the anger issues, you’re just about the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Matt groans and falls onto his back.

“I shower,” he says.

“You shower _more_ ,” she says. “I appreciate it. Your hair’s all fluffy.”

“That’s a good thing?”

“Parents love fluffy hair, Murdock,” she says. “So does Foggy, by the way.”

Matt sits up slowly.

“Did he say something?” he asks, rolling his eyes and slumping his shoulders again when Karen laughs again.

“No,” she says, “but it’s also cute that you’re so surprised every time you realize that the guy who said he was into you is _actually_ into you.”

“Cute,” Matt echoes, scoffing.

Karen takes her phone out to reply to a text and Matt sits silently beside her until he finally gives in.

“He said his type is brunettes the other day,” he says, quietly.

“Now that,” Karen says, “is adorable.”

*

“I should’ve worn a tie,” Matt says, dragging his feet a little as they walk down the sidewalk towards Foggy’s place, the first time that Matt’s been there since Foggy kissed him. And then he fucked everything up by kissing him back.

“I don’t think my dad even _owns_ a tie,” Foggy says, laughing. “You look great. You always look great.”

“Oh,” Matt says. He doesn’t actually have any nice clothes, but they’re clean at least—a dark grey sweater and black jeans and he wiped the grass stains off his converse with paper towels in the bathroom earlier. “I’m sure you do, too.”

“Eh, it doesn’t matter,” Foggy says. “They have to love me even if I look like a bridge troll.”

Matt laughs.

“What if _I_ looked like a bridge troll?” he asks.

“Well, I’m sure they’d still love you because you’re very charming when you let yourself be and, also, they’re used to loving _me_ , a bridge troll.”

“You’re not,” Matt says, tugging at his arm a little as they stop at the front steps.

“You don’t know that, Matty,” Foggy says, airily, “but I’ll take the compliment. Ready to go up?”

His instincts are to fight Foggy because he doesn’t actually need to know what Foggy looks like to know that Foggy’s _gorgeous,_ but instead he takes a deep breath and nods firmly. He cares too much to run off into the night like his instincts are screaming for him to do so he might as well get it over with.

“Deep breaths—you’ve already met and charmed Mom,” Foggy says, as they walk up the stairs, “and I can promise you that my father does not eat people.”

“Well, I wasn’t worried about that until now,” Matt says, faintly, feeling a little better when Foggy laughs.

*

Foggy’s parents insist on him calling them Edward and Anna and it feels so ridiculously wrong that Matt’s determined not to directly address them for the rest of the night. It won’t be hard—Foggy is his parents’ child and that means that Matt very gratefully cannot get a word in edgewise.

“I’m just saying,” Edward says, “that it’s ridiculous that the school hasn’t been able to catch this kid. How hard could it be to find a skinny teenager running around dressed like a superhero?”

“He’s like _Spider-Man_ ,” Foggy says. “Seriously, he scaled a building in basically ten seconds. No mere teacher could nab him.”

Matt wishes that he was like Spider-Man. Having superpowers other than being good at hearing and smelling things could really help him out.

“The _police_ could,” Edward says. Matt’s breath catches a little.

“The police?” Anna asks, scoffs. “Do you seriously want to sic cops on a kid who’s just trying to make a difference?”

“By assaulting people,” Edward says.

“Foggy,” Anna says, like she’s very aware that she’s right, “How many of the kids who have been targeted were assaulting other kids?”

“Oh, one hundred percent,” Foggy says, brightly. “They’re all dicks.”

“ _Franklin_ ,” Edward says, without much heat. “Language.”

“. . .Franklin?” Matt repeats, the first thing he’s said in a long time, grinning when Foggy buries his face in his hands and groans.

“I’m disowning you, Dad,” he says, muffled.

“It’s a perfectly good name,” Edward says. “It was my _father’s_ name.”

“It’s a great name,” Matt says, already planning on making fun of Foggy later.

“You’re taking it to your _grave_ , Murdock.”

“Stop threatening your guest with death at the dinner table,” Anna says, calmly, getting to her feet and already taking Matt’s empty plate before she asks, “Matt, would you like a second helping? Full disclosure, I’m going to feed you as much as you’ll let me.”

“Yes, please,” Matt says, smiling at her.

“Were you seriously implying that these teenagers deserve to get their asses kicked, sweetheart?” Edward asks, raising his voice as Anna leaves the room. There’s a slight pause.

“Yes,” she calls back. “I think I was.”

“What if it happened to your son?”

Anna comes back with a full plate for Matt and says, patting his shoulder, “If _our_ son acted like those boys are, I would think getting his ass kicked would do him some good. Do you agree, Matt?”

“Foggy would never be like them,” Matt says, smiling in his direction when Foggy makes a soft, pleased noise, “but—yeah, I think a little fear can go a long way and—punching someone in the face is one method of scaring someone.”

“Immoral, all of you,” Edward says, and Anna laughs and throws a napkin at him.

“Practical, I think,” she says. “Foggy, go get dessert ready. I want to learn more about Matt.”

Matt makes a desperate _please no_ face at Foggy, who murmurs as he passes, “Sorry, buddy, she won’t be denied,” and just leaves Matt alone with his parents.

He’s _definitely_ telling everyone Foggy’s real name. He has to, for vengeance reasons.

*

After dinner, they retreat to Foggy’s room and sit shoulder to shoulder on his bed while they talk about homework and Foggy describes YouTube videos of baby animals to him. It’s really fun until Foggy says, “Oh, wow, it’s really late. My mom’s probably going to insist on you sleeping over,” and Matt has to be reminded of everything that he’s done again.

“Oh,” he says.

“Which is fine—I’ll sleep on the couch.”

“No, I’ll—”

“ _No_ —oh, shit, deja vu,” Foggy says, then makes a soft noise, shifting a few inches away from Matt before he asks, “What if we just share the bed again? I promise I’ll keep my mouth to myself.”

Every time that Matt’s jerked off since they kissed, it’s to the feeling of Foggy’s tongue in his mouth and their bodies pressed together.

“You know I’m not mad about that, right?” Matt asks.

“I’d hope not,” Foggy says, primly. “You should be honored.”

“Oh, yeah?” Matt asks, grinning.

“Yeah,” Foggy says. “I don’t go around kissing just any boy, Matthew—only the incredibly dumb ones.”

Matt snorts and moves closer, unable to resist leaning against Foggy to feel him warm and happy and a little excited, heart beating quick.

“I _am_ pretty dumb,” he says.

If he wasn’t, he probably wouldn’t be in Foggy’s bed right now.

“The dumbest,” Foggy says, leaning their heads together for just a moment before his breath catches and he crawls out of the bed. “I’ll get you some clothes and go tell mom.”

Matt listens to Foggy dig through his closet, smiling when Foggy sits some clothes in front of him and turns to leave.

“Hey—Matt?” he says, in the doorway.

“Yeah?” Matt asks.

“. . .is this okay?”

“Yeah,” Matt says, smiling as honestly as he can and trying not to think too much about how shy and hesitant and un-Foggy-like Foggy sounded when he asked that. “It’s okay.”

“Okay,” Foggy says, nodding. “Cool, uhm—you should change, I’ll be back in a minute.”

After Foggy leaves, Matt picks up the t-shirt that he gave him and holds it up to his face to smell it, realizing that he’s acting ridiculous but not caring enough to stop because it smells like Foggy underneath detergent and fabric softener. Sweat and weed and the floral shampoo that his mom also uses. Freshly shaven pencils and sugary coffee and—sex. He doesn’t know exactly how much Foggy jerks off but based on the smell of his room, he could probably estimate it.

He changes quickly and gets back into the bed before Foggy comes back.

“. . .okay if I change in here?” Foggy asks.

“Sure, go for it,” Matt says, lying down and turning his face away to hide the fact that he’s blushing at the thought of Foggy getting undressed so close to him.

They lie quietly side by side after they say good night to each other.

“What happens if we get all cuddly in the middle of the night again?” Foggy asks, suddenly.

“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with it,” Matt says, after a moment. “Do you?”

“. . .no,” Foggy says. “Just—two friends cuddling.”

“Exactly,” Matt says, deciding to be dumb again as he says, “Actually, maybe we should just—”

“Get it over with?” Foggy interrupts.

“It’ll probably happen anyway,” Matt says.

“Just makes sense.”

They shift around until Foggy’s arm is around him, his chest pressed against Matt’s back. It feels wrong but only because he wants him so much and can’t have him—not like this, not all the time. He knows he’ll take whatever he can get but he’s no good for Foggy and he—he doesn’t know _how_ to love a boy.

Fuck.

_Love._

*

Matt wakes up to his phone ringing insistently on the bedside table, saying Karen’s name, and Foggy groans and reaches for it to hand it to him.

“Tell your girlfriend it’s _Saturday_ ,” he mumbles.

“She’s _not_ my—” Matt starts, then sighs, answering the phone with, “It’s _Saturday.”_

“Thanks, I know calendars work,” she says, sharply. “Where are you right now?”

“I’m with Foggy,” he says.

“Hi, Karen,” Foggy says, yawning.

“. . .hi,” Karen says, laughing. “Wow, okay—I’m having an emergency, Murdock, and I need you to meet me at the coffee shop, like, immediately _.”_

“Wait, what’s going on?” Matt asks, making a face.

“ _Immediately_ ,” she repeats, before she hangs up.

He realizes a few moments later that this probably has to do with Daredevil, which is why she didn’t say anything in front of Foggy, and he’s immediately nervous.

“Your girlfriend’s dramatic,” Foggy says, turning and burying his face in his pillow.

“‘s not my girlfriend,” Matt says, sighing.

“You going?”

“I guess I have to.”

Foggy sits up so Matt can get out of bed, then turns on his side, saying, “I’ll shut my eyes so you can change.”

Matt changes back into his clothes and tells Foggy when he’s done, as he’s sitting down on the floor to pull his sneakers on.

“I’ll see you Monday?” he asks, getting to his feet.

“Yeah, Matty,” Foggy says. “See you.”

It feels like one of them should say something else, but Matt doesn’t know what. So he doesn’t.

*

Karen’s sitting at a table outside when Matt gets to the coffee shop.

“Finally,” she says. “Sit down, I bought you a giant iced coffee. You’re gonna need the caffeine to deal with whatever is about to happen.”

“What are you about to tell me?” Matt asks, sinking down into a chair next to her so he can hear her when she lowers her voice.

“Someone sent me a video,” she says.

“. . .and?”

“ _And_ ,” Karen says, “it features me and you under the bleachers—and you’re taking off your mask.”

“. . .well, shit,” Matt says, softly, feeling his stomach drop.

“It gets better. They also told us to meet them here, in about—five minutes, actually.”

“Do you have a plan?” Matt asks, hopefully.

“I’ve got nothing, Murdock,” Karen says.

This is the most anxious that Matt’s ever heard her; normally, Karen’s the coolest person that he knows. It does nothing to help his own nerves so he picks up the coffee and drinks it, trying to think this through while his brain is just shouting about how he’s going to get expelled again, how his fosters will drop him and he’ll have to live somewhere else.

He’s shaking for multiple reasons when somebody walks up to their table.

“Oh,” Karen says.

“Hi, Daredevil,” Jessica says.


	7. Chapter 7

“Don’t tell Foggy,” Matt says, immediately, and Karen sighs.

“I was going to try to deny it,” she says, slumping down into her seat, “but sure, don’t tell Foggy.”

“Nelson deserves to know,” Jessica says, hands on her hips. “If you two are going to be—whatever the fuck you are. You need to tell him.”

“We’re friends,” Matt sighs, even though _whatever the fuck you are_ is probably a more accurate depiction. Karen’s his friend. Foggy’s his—whatever the fuck. “I don’t want to involve him and get him in trouble. He doesn’t deserve that.”

“No, he doesn’t,” Jessica says, pointedly, “so you either need to tell him or stay the hell away from him.”

“I think there’s probably some middleground in there somewhere,” Karen says, skeptically, but then Matt assumes that Jessica turns the probably terrifying glare that she has on her, because she immediately continues, “Oh, shit, never mind. Ultimatums are great. Don’t hurt me.”

“ _I_ don’t hurt people,” Jessica says, which is a dig but not a great one. Matt knows that he hurts people but he also knows deep in his soul that they deserve it. That he’s got a talent that shouldn’t be wasted that just happens to be a little—bloody. He’s mostly fine with it at this point.

“Oh, whatever,” Karen says, clearly bouncing back, sitting up in her seat. “You’ve been at the scene of a lot of fights with a lot of injured boys who don’t want to admit details, Jessica Jones. I’ve got _notes_.”

“You’re stalking me?” Jessica asks.

“I’m _investigating_ you,” Karen says. “I’m investigating everyone. The newspaper’s my only hobby and I’ve got a lot of free time.”

Jessica actually laughs and Matt wants to be in a lot of different places that aren’t here, where Karen is flirting with someone who is actively trying to blackmail him, like a _traitor_.

“I’m surprised _you’re_ not out there with a mask,” Karen says. “Actually—would you consider it? One vigilante’s a great story but two might actually make somebody read my paper.”

“Oh god,” Matt murmurs, dropping his head in his hands.

“I have no interest in running around looking like a dumbass,” Jessica says. “Speaking of dumbasses—what do you say, Murdock?”

Matt doesn’t even lift his head, saying, muffled, “At least let me tell him on my own time, okay?”

“I’ll give you a month,” Jessica says, “and I’m stealing your coffee.”

“Fair enough.”

Jessica tries to leave and Karen stops her so they can exchange numbers, for what Karen claims are business reasons, maybe feminism reasons. Definitely no shenanigans afoot.

“You were making heart eyes at her,” he says, accusingly.

“You can’t see my heart eyes,” Karen says, “so your attacks have no validity. How are you feeling, kid?”

“I want to go back to sleep,” he says, sadly.

“Aww,” she says. “In your boyfriend’s bed?”

“Shut _up_ ,” Matt moans.

“Now that the blackmail’s over,” she says, “Let’s talk about _that_. Details, please.”

“. . .I think I’m the little spoon,” Matt says, despairingly, balling up a straw wrapper and throwing it at her when she laughs so hard that she cries.

*

The thing about the jocks’ mission to unmask Daredevil is that it’s a waste of everybody’s time. Matt’s faster and smarter than them and he’s not afraid—they don’t actually have a chance. He’s about. . .eighty percent sure of it.

He plays their game, though. He takes every opportunity to fight them and comes out with bruises and scrapes because they’re bigger than him. If he did fuck up, that would be their advantage. They run and hit each other with their bodies for fun, so if there were, like, four of them and he slipped up—everything could be over.

If they were willing to admit that a blind kid had beat up most of the football team, at least.

“Who the _fuck_ are you?” one of the guys asks, when Matt has them all on the ground, in the _girl’s_ locker room this time.

They thought it was funny to follow a scared freshman girl in there alone. They didn’t touch her but they were _playing_ with her.

She was crying when Matt got there but she didn’t leave. He didn’t notice her until now, but she’s standing in the doorway and taping it on her phone.

“I’m your warning,” Matt says, trying to keep his voice low so the camera won’t pick it up. “Do this again and I won’t be as nice.”

One of the guys reaches out and grabs his ankle and Matt immediately spins around and kicks him in the stomach, backing away from them immediately.

“Thank you!” the girl calls after him, when he pushes past her gently and sprints down the hall to get somewhere safe and change.

*

“ _I’m your warning_ ,” Karen says, in a gravelly Christian Bale Batman voice, elbowing Matt. They’re sitting on the steps outside school and watching the video for the seventh time. “Shit, that’s a good line. I’m so proud of you.”

“Foggy’s coming,” he says, elbowing her back, when he smells Foggy nearby.

“Ooh, are you watching the latest episode of Vigilante Justice?” Foggy asks, sinking down onto the step beside Matt.

“I think it’s the best one yet,” Karen says. “Especially since it’s not a shaky Snapchat video.”

“The first one with dialogue, too,” Foggy says. “Daredevil’s getting even braver.”

“You think he’s brave?” Karen asks, leaning into Matt when she turns to look at Foggy.

“Oh, I think he’s a total psycho,” Foggy says, “but—yeah, really brave. Nobody else is willing to stand up to this shit.”

Matt doesn’t realize he’s smiling until he’s smiling, scrubbing a hand over his face to give him time to hide it. Hearing Foggy say that makes everything seem worth it. Like everything’s working out.

“What about you, Matty?” Foggy asks, ruffling Matt’s hair, fingers grazing Matt’s neck when he drops his hand. “You never really share your opinion on our favorite boy hero.”

Matt’s blushing. For several reasons. He should have better control over this, but apparently he’s getting soft.

“I—think he’s doing God’s work,” he says.

“Really?” Foggy asks, amused.

“Well,” Matt says, shrugging. “Old Testament.”

“Hey, are you still allowed to be a Catholic if they kick you out of Catholic school?” Karen asks, like she’s been thinking about it.

Matt’s been to church a few times since then, on his own—never to a service, but to confession, because what he’s been doing is wrong, even if he has no plans to stop. The lying, the violence, the—the word _lust_ always dies in his throat before he can get it out. But he confesses and he reminds himself to pray when he’s alone and yeah, he’s still Catholic.

“Yeah,” he says, smiling sideways. “You’re just on thin ice with Jesus for a while.”

“Well, I’ve heard he’s pretty forgiving,” Foggy says. “Hey, do you guys have plans? I was going to go to the library and work on homework but I would love to do something that’s not that.”

“I was going to go sneak into the movies,” Karen says.

“Rebellious,” Foggy says, agreeably. “I would definitely legally go to a movie.”

“That takes all of the fun out of it,” Karen says. “I don’t even care about the movie, I just want the thrill of committing a crime.”

“. . .I can’t tell if you’re joking,” Foggy says, “but let’s walk and talk.”

She’s definitely not joking. Matt snuck in with her once and ended up going back out and secretly paying for both of them because he felt bad about tricking the nice old lady working the ticket booth.

Foggy offers Matt his arm when they leave and they only make it a few steps before Matt stops them and asks, “Hey, are you limping?”

“Oh,” Foggy says, heart speeding up as he shifts uncomfortably. “Yeah, I, uh—tripped on my way to school this morning. Twisted my ankle a little.”

He’s lying. Foggy’s _lying_ and the only reason that he would be lying about getting hurt is because somebody hurt him and he doesn’t want Matt to know.

“You just tripped?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Foggy says, laughing uncomfortably. “You might be surprised by this, Murdock, but I’m not the most coordinated boy in the world. It’s why they’ll never cast me in the school musical no matter how otherwise glowingly talented I am.”

“Isn’t Trish Walker, like, queen of the theater kids?” Karen asks. “Couldn’t you use nepotism?”

“I fell off the stage during my audition for _Grease_ last year,” Foggy says, patting Matt’s hand gently where it’s still curled around his arm as they start walking again, “and landed on the theater teacher. I was black-listed after that.”

“Well, if I can be honest,” Karen says, like she’s only mostly teasing, “I’ve heard you singing in the locker room and it might be best that you keep your talents backstage.”

“. . .okay, first of all, you’re very cruel,” Foggy says. “Second of all, _why_ were you in the boy’s locker room? Where I’ve been completely naked?”

“I’d also like to know that,” Matt adds, rolling his eyes at himself for feeling weirdly jealous about Karen maybe seeing Foggy naked and then just weird in general.

“I’ve been working on a story about drug deals at school since the beginning of the semester,” she says, calmly, “and that place is basically the center of them all. Don’t worry, though, I mainly just listened at the door and threatened freshmen for information—I don’t exactly want to see a bunch of random dicks.”

There’s a beat and then Foggy starts laughing.

“I like you, Page,” he says.

“You’re not so bad yourself, Nelson,” she replies, flipping her hair and walking ahead.

Matt tightens his grip on Foggy’s arm just a little and Foggy turns to say, close to his ear, “Hey, I also like you.”

Matt smiles way too hard.

“I like you, too,” he says, ignoring Karen smothering a laugh in front of them.

*

“Do you know who hurt him?” Matt asks, catching Jessica after class the next day.

Jessica heaves out an unnecessarily dramatic sigh. He wonders if she practices them at home.

“Come with me,” she says.

He follows her around the corner to an empty stairwell, where she leans against the wall and says, “You’ve both pissed off the wrong people. I take it nobody’s been messing with you?”

“Not when I’m alone,” Matt says, thinking about that day with Foggy when he probably made an enemy out of— _oh_. “Is it Chad?”

“Can you believe his name is fucking _Chad_?” Jessica asks. “And, yeah, him and his little polo-clad army of rich jackasses that haven’t taken kindly to you and Foggy—standing too closely to each, I guess? All they’ve got is homophobic bullshit and a need to take out their anger on someone weaker than them.”

“I kind of hit him with my cane,” Matt says. “In a—sensitive area.”

“. . .I respect that so much,” Jessica admits, “but apparently they’re punishing Foggy for it.”

“Why is he lying about it?”

“Because he’s a brave little idiot,” Jessica says, with as much affection as Matt’s ever heard in her voice, “and I honestly think he realizes that you’d run and try to save him even if he doesn’t know that you’d be wearing a mask while you did it. Not that you need to—I’m going to handle it myself.”

“You’re going to take on all those guys at once?” Matt asks, skeptically.

Another sigh but then Jessica’s grabbing his shirtfront and _picking him up_ , pushing him up against the wall a few inches off the ground, like he weighs _nothing_.

“You’re not the only one with secrets, Murdock,” she says, letting him slide down slowly and taking a step back.

“. . . _wow_ ,” he says, softly, kind of scared and amazed and _maybe_ slightly turned on. “How did—”

“I don’t really want to share right now,” she says. “I’m going to go hunt them down. Don’t let Foggy go off alone if you can help it.”

“I should be meeting him for lunch now,” Matt says, straightening himself before he heads for the door, turning back at the last minute to say, “And, hey—Jessica?”

“What?”

“If I find them first,” he says, “you won’t have to worry about them anymore.”

Jessica pauses for a beat before she says, “Fair enough.”

*

They aren’t even hiding it. Just out in the open where anybody could see.

It's a few days after he speaks with Jessica who hasn't managed to get them alone and it's right when he's normally meeting Foggy for lunch. He hears Foggy’s voice being drowned out by other voices, calling him a _fag_ and making fun of his hair and his clothes and what they think he does with Matt and the _second_ that Matt hears Foggy’s body hit the ground like he’s been shoved over, he’s grabbing the mask from his backpack and putting it on, sprinting over to them.

He has to hear the hurt sound that Foggy makes when someone kicks him in the stomach but that’s only going to make him hit harder.

It feels kind of like he blacks out, not quite aware of what he’s doing beyond _hurting_ , until Chad’s the only one left and he’s straddling him and punching him over and over and it’s like Wesley again—it would be like fucking _Wesley_ again, probably permanently fucked up, eating through a tube, if Foggy wasn’t yelling, “Hey, stop! _Stop_ it! I think you won!”

Matt stops and stands up; Chad struggles to his feet and stumbles away, clutching an arm that might be—hopefully is—broken. Foggy, closer than Matt realized, puts a hand on his shoulder.

Brave little idiot.

“Uhm, thanks,” he says.

Matt says, “No problem,” and Foggy’s heart races faster than when he was getting beaten up.

Matt starts to run away when Foggy says, softly, “Wait, wait, wait,” and touches Matt’s face.

Slides fingers over his hair.

Takes off his mask.

“Matty,” Foggy breathes. “How— _how—”_

Matt doesn’t have a good answer right now.

So he grabs Foggy by the face and kisses him instead.

**Author's Note:**

> more to come soon, i hope
> 
> [also, i'm on tumblr](http://returnsandreturns.tumblr.com)


End file.
